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^s^SlfiS&^fSwS 


-   IV  U. 


EDITH'S    MINISTRY 


BY 

HARRIET  B.  McKEEVER, 

AUTHOR  0*    "  SUNSHINE,"  "  WOODCLIFF,"  "  THE  WOODCLIFF  CHILDREN,"  STO. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
J.  P.  SKEI.LY  &   CO., 

No.  21  SOUTH  SEVENTH  STREET, 


(SECOND  FLOOR.) 
1869. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859,  by 

HARRIET  B.  McKEEVER, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Clerk  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District 
of  Pennsylvania. 

SlKBEOTTPED   AND   PRINTED   BT   ALFRED   MARTIEX. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.                                         PAGE 
THE  CLIFFORD  FAMILY 7 

CHAPTER  II. 
THE  GOVERNESS 17 

CHAPTER   III. 
THE  STRONG-MINDED  WOMAN 28 

CHAPTER  IV. 
RALPH   CAMERON 36 

CHAPTER  V. 
ROSY  DEEAMS 46 

CHAPTER  VI. 
CITY  COUSINS 54 

CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  Two   PASTORS 62 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
AUNT  PRISCILLA. » 74 

CHAPTER  IX. 
A  PICTURE  ON  THE  BALCONY 86 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  FAMILY  CHAIN  BROKEN 97 

CHAPTER  XI. 

BEYOND  THE  SEA Ill 

CHAPTER  XII. 
PRINCIPLES  TRIED 125 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS 139 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
SCENES  NEVER  TO  BE  FORGOTTEN ...  147 


2047323 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XV.                                     PAGE 
ANGELS'  VISITS 161 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
THE  BAPTISM  OF  GEIEF 175 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

BANISHED 193 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
DISAPPOINTED  HOPES 210 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
MISGUIDED  MADGE 228 

CHAPTER  XX. 
COMING  OUT 248 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
WOODBINE  COTTAGE 286 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Is  IT  MADGE? 284 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
A  WRECK  UPON  A  SUMMER  STREAM 303 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
GREEN  PASTURES  AND  STILL  WATERS 321 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
AUTUMN  LEAVES  AND  THE  OLD  ELM-TREE 341 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
THE  SISTER'S  RECOMPENSE 361 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
WINTER  BLASTS  ABOUND  OAK  HALL 379 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
EVENING....  ...  394 


EDITH'S    MINISTRY. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE      CLIFFORD      FAMILY. 

HE  wind  whistled  shrilly  around  a  noble  man- 
sion, which  stood  proudly  upon  a  high  eminence 
on  the  North  River.    It  had  been  called  Ravens- 
wood,   after    the    family   name   of   Mrs.   Clifford, 
and   had    belonged   for   many   years    to    the   old 
estate. 

From  the  front  piazza  there  was  a  commanding 
view  of  the  beautiful  Hudson,  and  all  around, 
the  scenery  was  highly  picturesque  and  romantic ;  rolling 
hills  and  noble  forests,  dotted  over  with  tasteful  residences, 
presented  a  picture  of  exceeding  beauty.  In  summer,  the 
noble  river  was  one  of  the  most  attractive  features  in  the 
landscape,  but  now,  its  ice-bound  surface  only  spoke  of  the 
presence  of  a  grim  jailer,  shutting  in  a  cheerless  prison,  its 
dancing  waters. 

Our  story  opens  in  the  winter,  when  the  trees  are  stripped 
of  all  their  luxuriant  foliage. 

The  keen  wind  swept  around  the  lofty  portico,  which 
stretched  across  the  front  and  wings  of  the  house,  wailing 
first  in  low  sighs,  then  in  prolonged  blasts,  cracking  the  dry 
boughs,  and  howling  a  wintry  dirge  over  the  desolation 
which  it  had  itself  created. 

7 


8  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Snow  had  fallen  for  several  weeks,  and  the  ground  was 
covered  with  a  hard,  frozen  surface,  cracking  beneath  the  feet 
of  the  traveller. 

It  was  night ;  the  large  bay-window  of  the  south  wing 
was  brilliantly  lighted,  and  within  was  seated  a  lovely  fa- 
mily group,  gathered  in  the  library  just  after  their  evening 
meal.  The  room  was  large  and  airy,  the  walls  were  fur- 
nished with  walnut  book-cases;  in  the  centre  stood  a  large 
study-table,  lighted  by  a  bright  lamp  with  several  branches. 
Comfortable  chairs  of  various  kinds  were  scattered  around ; 
two  couches  with  pillows,  covered  with  crimson  moreen, 
stood,  one  in  the  large  bay-window,  and  the  other  on  the 
side  of  the  room.  Fine  pictures,  and  the  busts  of  distin- 
guished persons  adorned  the  walls,  and  heavy  crimson  cur- 
tains shaded  the  windows,  and  served  to  shut  out  the  wintry 
blasts.  In  a  large  parlor-grate  blazed  a  fire  of  bituminous 
coal,  and  the  room  exhibited  an  appearance  of  wealth  and 
comfort. 

In  a  comfortable  arm-chair,  on  one  side  of  the  fire,  was 
seated  Mr.  Clifford,  a  fine,  noble-looking  man,  in  the  prime 
of  life ;  by  his  side,  on  a  lower  chair,  reposed  the  lovely 
mother  of  the  family.  She  was  a  small,  delicate-looking 
woman,  so  fair  and  ethereal  in  her  appearance,  as  always  to 
remind  one  of  the  frailty  of  human  life.  Her  soft  blue  eyes 
and  transparent  complexion,  with  a  profusion  of  light, 
flaxen  hair,  would  have  indicated  weakness  of  character; 
unless  a  more  observing  glance  had  been  directed  to  -  the 
arched  nostrils,  and  beautifully  curved  mouth,  where  sweet- 
ness, mingled  with  firmness,  sat  enthroned.  Her  figure, 
though  small,  was  graceful ;  but  there  was  a  languor  in  her 
movements,  a  sad  sweetness  in  her  smile,  and  a  faltering  in 
her  step,  that  spoke  of  failing  strength,  and  a  feeble  hold 
on  life. 

At  the  table  sat  Frank,  the  only  son,  a  boy  of  sixteen,  a 
handsome  youth,  with  a  profusion  of  curling  dark  hair,  and 
flashing  eyes,  brimful  of  the  spirit  of  mischief. 

Margaret,  or  Madge,  as  we  shall  call  her,  a  girl  of  fourteen, 


THE   CLIFFORD   FAMILY.  9 

sat  in  a  corner,  in  a  little  chair,  near  the  fire,  with  a  large 
book  on  her  lap,  which  she  seemed  to  be  almost  devouring. 
She  was  small,  thin,  and  awkward ;  her  complexion  swarthy, 
her  features  out  of  proportion,  especially  her  nose,  which 
was  aquiline,  and  very  large;  her  mouth  was  expressive, 
but  not  beautiful,  but  her  eyes,  (when  you  could  get  a  glimpse 
of  them,)  were  so  remarkable,  that  once  seen,  they  could 
never  be  forgotten ;  they  were  so  brilliant  and  variable  in 
their  expression,  and  at  times  so  luminous,  that  they  seemed 
almost  to  emit  light ;  but  so  very  eccentric  and  shy  was  this 
little  girl,  that  she  seldom  raised  her  eyes  long  enough  for 
you  to  see  their  beauty,  so  generally  veiled  under  the  long, 
dark  eye-lashes. 

Books  were  her  constant  delight ;  so  much  was  she  devoted 
to  them,  that  frequently  they  were  hidden  from  her  to  compel 
her  to  take  the  exercise  which  her  health  demanded.  Child- 
ish ones  did  not  satisfy  her ;  the  great  poets  fascinated  her 
completely,  and,  young  as  she  was,  even  Shakespeare  was 
understood  and  appreciated. 

The  eldest  daughter,  Edith,  a  girl  of  seventeen,  was  seated 
on  a  couch  in  the  bay-window,  with  her  arm  encircling  the 
waist  of  her  governess,  whom  she  dearly  loved ;  and  well 
she  deserved  her  affection,  for  Miss  Arnold  was  DO  common 
person.  She  was  about  thirty  years  old,  commanding  in 
her  appearance,  and  possessed  of  rare  qualifications  as  a 
teacher. 

Edith  Clifford  was  a  lovely  girl,  tall  and  graceful,  with  a 
face  beaming  with  feeling  and  intelligence  ;  her  complexion 
was  a  pale,  clear  brunette,  and  a  wealth  of  glossy  raven  hair 
hung  around  her  face  and  shoulders  in  waving  ringlets.  Her 
beauty  was  chiefly  in  the  lofty  and  bright  expression  of  her 
face ;  not  in  the  mere  skin  or  in  the  moulding  of  her  features. 
She  had  naturally  a  proud  spirit,  but  a  warm  and  generous 
heart,  and  talents  of  a  high  order. 

The  third  daughter,  Blanche,  was  beautiful  as  a  poet's 
dream  ;  the  fourth,  Adele,  a  twin,  an  arch,  mischievous  little 
sprite,  full  of  fun  and  frolic ;  the  next,  Lilly,  a  timid,  sensi- 


10  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

tive  little  creature ;  and  the  pet  of  the  family,  Emily,  a  babe, 
not  yet  out  of  her  mother's  arms.  This  family  group  was 
gathered,  as  was  their  custom,  in  the  library,  early  in  the 
evening,  for  papa  delighted  to  have  his  whole  family  together 
at  that  hour. 

The  party  at  the  table  was  busily  employed  in  a  game ; 
Emily  sat  on  her  papa's  lap,  playing  with  his  hair,  patting 
his  cheek,  and  caressing  him  tenderly. 

Edith,  sitting  near  the  window,  called  Miss  Arnold's  atten- 
tion to  the  beauty  of  the  winter  sky,  saying,  "  How  grand 
the  constellations  are  to-night!  Orion  is  brilliant  as  a  band 
of  diamonds,  and  the  Great  Bear,  how  splendid  he  appears ! 
What  are  those,  Miss  Arnold,  in  the  shape  of  an  A?"  "  That 
is  the  constellation  of  the  Pleiades;  how  much  more  beautiful 
they  are  in  the  winter !" 

As  they  were  conversing,  they  observed  two  figures  moving 
rapidly  up  the  avenue  that  led  to  the  house ;  they  were  male 
and  female,  and  as  they  drew  nearer,  the  lad  darted  out  of 
the  path,  and  ran  across  the  grounds  to  the  window,  where, 
knocking  sportively,  Edith  recognized  Gerald  Fortescue, 
and  his  sister  Josephine.  In  a  minute  more  they  entered 
the  room,  and  were  warmly  greeted  by  the  party  in  the 
library. 

They  were  near  neighbors,  who  resided  at  Oak  Hall. 
Josephine,  the  elder,  was  a  fine-looking  girl,  with  rather  a 
brusque,  independent  bearing,  that  was  almost  masculine. 
Gerald,  aged  about  nineteen,  was  a  pale,  intelligent-looking 
youth,  with  waving  brown  hair,  shading  a  lofty  forehead ; 
and  eyes  with  a  thoughtful,  dreamy  expression.  He  seemed 
to  look  up  to  his  sister  with  great  admiration  and  reverence. 

They  had  not  been  long  seated,  when  the  bell  rang  for 
evening  worship,  and  Mrs.  Clifford  arose  and  led  the  way  to 
her  own  sitting-room,  followed  by  all  but  her  husband.  He 
was  a  man  of  the  world,  and,  though  tenderly  attached  to  his 
lovely  wife,  thought  her  notions  too  strict  and  puritanical, 
therefore,  he  took  no  interest  in  these  services. 

Mrs.  Clifford  was  a  devoted  Christian,  and  true  to  her  views 


THE   CLIFFORD   FAMILY.  11 

of  duty,  walked  straight  forward  in  her  humble  path  of  piety 
and  devotedness  to  God.  It  was  a  trial,  in  the  presence  of 
her  servants  and  children^  thus  silently  to  reprove  her  hus- 
band ;  but  her  duty  to  God  demanded  it,  and  she  was  obe- 
dient. 

In  her  room  stood  a  parlor  organ.  Miss  Arnold  played 
delightfully  on  the  instrument,  and  Mrs.  Clifford,- who  had 
a  sweet  voice,  led  the  singing.  Solemnly  she  read  a  portion 
of  the  Scriptures,  and  then  implored,  in  earnest,  heartfelt 
prayer,  the  blessing  of  God  upon  her  household,  not  for- 
getting the  guests  who  were  present  with  them  on  that  occa- 
sion. 

Gerald  was  touched  by  the  sweet  tones  of  intercession ; 
but  Josephine  remained  seated,  with  rather  a  contemptuous 
expression  upon  her  face.  She  prided  herself  much  upon 
her  noble  intellect,  forgetting  who  had  bestowed  the  gift,  and 
instead  of  using  her  talents  in  the  service  of  God,  and  bowing 
her  will  to  his,  she  had  struck  out  a  path  for  herself,  and  was 
walking  in  the  light  of  her  own  understanding,  independent 
of  God's  revealed  will.  In  her  college  life  (for  she  had 
graduated  at  a  female  institution),  she  had  unfortunately 
carne  in  contact  with  strong-minded  women,  and  finding  their 
foolish  boasts  of  independence  consonant  with  her  notions  of 
woman's  rights,  she  had  thrown  aside  the  gentle  charms  of 
womanhood,  and  had  fully  imbibed  the  irreligious  spirit  of 
those  misguided  women.  Consequently,  this  sweet  evening 
service  she  regarded  as  fanatical  and  pharisaical,  and  sat 
during  the  exercises,  while  others  knelt,  to  show  her  want  of 
respect  for  their  observances.  After  the  services,  they  all 
returned  to  the  library,  save  little  Emily,  who  was  dismissed, 
with  a  mother's  sweet  kiss,  to  her  nightly  slumbers. 

Gerald  seated  himself  near  Edith,  and  entertained  her  with 
a  book  of  beautiful  engravings,  which  he  had  brought  over; 
she  seemed  delighted  with  the  book,  and  frequently  called 
Miss  Arnold  to  admire  the  lovely  pictures. 

Frank  amused  himself  with  teasing  his  sister  Madge  (a 
remarkably  sensitive  child),  who  exhibited  much  impatience 


12  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

under  the  infliction.  Blanche,  Adele,  and  Lilly  were  deeply 
interested  in  cutting  out  some  Avinter  garments  for  their  dolls. 
Before  separating,  all,  excepting  Madge,  joined  in  several 
merry  games  of  real  sport,  but  none  could  persuade  the  way- 
ward child  to  join  them. 

"  Let  her  alone,"  said  Frank,  thoughtlessly,  "  she  is  a  poor 
little  mope,  always  pouting  and  grum."  Madge  raised  her 
eyes  for  a  minute,  and  they  flashed  fire  at  her  thoughtless 
brother,  as  she  said  :  "  I  don't  think  I  should  ever  like  to 
play  with  you,  Frank,  for  you  do  nothing  but  pull  my  nose, 
and  twitch  my  hair ;  you  never  do  so  with  Blanche  and 
Adele." 

"  Go  off  to  your  books,  Madge,  it  is  all  that  you  are  good 
for,"  and  the  poor  little  thing  turned  her  head  away  to  hide 
the  tear  that  she  was  too  proud  to  show. 

She  stole  softly  around  to  her  mother,  and  whispered, 
"  Mamma,  may  I  go  to  bed  ?  I  do  not  feel  very  well." 

"  Go,  my  child ;  and  don't  forget  to  pray,"  was  the  affec- 
tionate reply. 

When  she  retired,  she  soliloquized  thus  in  the  silence  of 
her  room.  "  I  wonder  if  anybody  will  ever  love  me  ?  they 
all  love  Blanche  and  Adele,  but  they  are  beautiful,  and  I  am 
ugly  ;  I  shall  never  be  pretty,  and  I  can't  be  good,  even  if  I 
try  ;  I  find  my  bad  temper  leading  me  off,  even  when  I  feel 
my  heart  bursting  for  the  want  of  somebody  to  love  me  ;  I 
try  to  hide  it,  and  say  cross  and  wicked  things,  when  I  don't 
feel  all  that  I  say.  Oh !  dear !  oh,  dear !  what  shall  I  do  ? 
mamma  tells  me  to  pray  ;  but  do  I  pray  ?  or  do  I  only  repeat 
words  ?  I  am  afraid  that  is  all ;  and  yet  I  can't  go  to  bed 
without  repeating  my  prayers."  Ere  retiring,  from  the  force 
of  habit,  Madge  knelt  by  her  bedside,  and  repeated  her  form 
of  prayer,  but  it  gave  no  relief,  for  the  heart  was  not  in  the 
service.  She  lay  awake  for  a  long  time,  and  at  last  cried 
herself  to  sleep,  determined  that  she  would  not  be  any  better, 
and  that  no  one  should  know  what  she  suffered. 

About  nine  o'clock,  the  party  in  the  library  separated ;  the 
winter  moon  was  shining  over  the  landscape,  and  as  the 


THE  CLIFFORD   FAMILY.  13 

young  people  stood  on  the  piazza,  Gerald  turned  to  Edith, 
and  said :  "  I  am  going  to  college,  soon ;  how  I  shall  miss 
you ;  will  you  ever  think  of  your  brother  Gerald  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  Gerald;  in  our  pleasant  walks  and  rides, 
in  our  excursions  on  the  river,  everywhere  we  shall  miss 
you." 

"  Edith,  I  must  have  a  lock  of  your  hair ;  will  you  give  it 
to  me  before  I  go  ?" 

"  You  shall  have  it,  Gerald ;  and  what  shall  I  have  of 
yours  ?" 

"  You  shall  have  my  dog,  Bruno.     I  think  that  you  will 
take  good  care  of  him  for  my  sake,  won't  you,  Edith  ?" 
"  Gladly,  Gerald ;  that  will  be  delightful." 
"  I  am  going  out  to  ride  to-morrow,  Edith,  before  break- 
fast ;  will   you  accompany  me  ?  or  would   you  think  it  too 
cold?" 

"  No,  indeed,  Gerald,  I  am  used  to  the  wind  of  our  bleak 
hills ;  and  if  mamma  will  permit  me,  I  will  be  ready." 
"  Good-night,  Edith  ;  I  shall  call  for  you." 
This  conversation  took  place  ere  they  parted,  and  Edith 
turned  back  into  the  house,  saddened  by  the  thought  of  soon 
losing  the  society  of  Gerald  Fortescue,  for  they  had  passed 
most  of  their  lives  in  the  closest  bonds  of  childish  intimacy. 

Frank  was  a  dear  affectionate  brother,  but  such  a  tease, 
that  it  was  with  peculiar  feelings  of  relief,  that  Edith  could 
always  look  to  Gerald  for  protection,  when  her  brother  was 
in  his  mischievous  moods. 

Gerald  was  a  peculiarly  interesting  character,  remarkably 
warm-hearted  and  generous ;  his  nature  was  cast  in  one  of 
the  finest  moulds  of  promising  boyhood.  Not  so  strong  as 
Edith,  he  looked  to  her  often  for  advice  and  sympathy,  when 
few  others  understood  him.  The  attachment  which  sprang  up 
between  these  young  persons  was  remarkably  pure  and  tender, 
and  the  thought  of  parting  was  very  painful  to  each  young 
heart. 

Gerald's  education  had  hitherto  been  conducted  at  home, 
under  the  care  of  a  tutor,  with  Frank  for  his  companion, 


14  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

after  he  had  passed  from  the  care  of  a  governess,  but  it  was 
now  deemed  expedient  to  send  him  to  college,  and  his  sensi- 
tive nature  shrank  from  the  trial  of  leaving  those  he  loved. 

When  Edith  spoke  of  the  ride  to  her  mamma,  her  consent 
was  freely  given,  and  Edith  was  up  long  before  the  breakfast 
hour,  ready  for  her  ride.  Her  favorite  pony,  Lady  Jane, 
was  standing  at  the  front  door,  impatiently  champing  her 
bit,  in  the  hands  of  a  groom,  and  Edith,  in  her  dark  riding 
dress,  was  seated  on  the  piazza,  looking  eagerly  down  the 
avenue  for  her  companion.  In  a  few  minutes,  Gerald, 
mounted  on  a  fine  horse,  attended  by  his  dog,  Bruno,  made 
his  appearance ;  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  young  girl,  he  lifted  his 
cap,  and  she  welcomed  his  approach  by  a  graceful  wave  of 
her  little  riding  whip. 

Edith  had  been  so  long  in  the  country,  and  been  so  accus- 
tomed to  exercise  out  of  doors,  that  she  was  not  afraid  of  a 
winter  ride ;  and  warmly  clad,  she  mounted  her  pony  in  great 
glee,  and  off  they  scampered,  Bruno  barking  and  capering 
around  them  in  gambols  of  delight. 

"  Edith,  what  shall  I  do  without  you,  when  I  go  to  college  ? 
we  have  passed  all  our  lives  together,  and  when  I  get  among 
a  parcel  of  rough  boys,  I  shall  miss  my  gentle  sister." 

"You  must  be  careful,  Gerald,  of  your  associates,  have 
nothing  to  do  with  dissipated  or  idle  companions ;  you  have 
never  been  away  from  home,  and  I  suppose  that  you  have  no 
idea  what  you  may  have  to  meet  with  in  college  life." 

"  You  will  often  see  my  sister,  Edith  ;  I  hope  that  you  will 
love  her  for  my  sake." 

"  I  cannot  be  deceitful,  Gerald,  but  indeed  thus  far  I  am 
afraid  of  Josephine,  she  has  such  a  way  of  commanding 
every  one,  and  has  such  strange  notions  about  women  ;  and 
then  she  says  such  dreadful  things  about  ministers,  that 
really,  Gerald,  I  cannot  help  feeling  more  of  fear  than  love 
for  her." 

"  That  is  all  true,  Edith,  but  still  she  is  my  sister,  and  cer- 
tainly has  great  talents." 

"  I  know  it,  Gerald,  but  the  other  evening  when  she  wa.s 


THE   CLIFFORD   FAMILY.  15 

speaking  against  our  dear  good  pastor,  I  could  scarcely  refrain 
from  speaking,  I  felt  so  indignant." 

"  I  was  wounded  also,  Edith,  for  how  can  I  ever  forget 
dear  kind  Mr.  Berkely,  he  has  been  such  a  faithful  friend  to 
me ;  he  has  given  me  a  letter  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Perkins,  who 
is  one  of  the  faculty  of  our  college." 

"  You  will  seek  his  friendship,  dear  Gerald,  and  go  to  him 
when  you  need  Christian  counsel." 

Thus  they  continued  to  beguile  the  time,  and  at  the  end 
of  an  hour  returned,  much  exhilarated  by  their  morning  ride. 

Edith  entered  the  breakfast-room  glowing  with  health,  and 
running  up  to  her  mother,  kissed  her  affectionately,  and 
exchanged  the  morning  salutations  with  each  of  the  family ; 
after  morning  prayer,  the  party  separated,  and  prepared  for 
their  daily  routine  of  duty. 

Gerald  spent  as  much  of  his  time  as  he  could  spare  with 
his  friends.  At  length  the  time  arrived  for  his  departure. 
Ere  leaving,  he  visited  all  his  favorite  haunts,  gave  charges 
to  old  Uncle  Ben,  a  family  servant,  concerning  all  his  pets, 
— his  pigeons,  his  rabbits,  and  his  pony,  Lion,  were  all  re- 
membered. 

On  the  night  before  his  departure,  he  brought  over  his 
dog,  Bruno,  and  said  to  him :  "  Now,  Bruno,  here  is  your  new 
mistress,  you  must  be  a  good  dog  to  Miss  Edith ;  and  now, 
Edith,  where  is  the  precious  curl?" 

True  to  her  promise,  she  had  cut  a  beautiful  lock  from  her 
head,  tied  it  with  a  ribbon,  folded  in  a  piece  of  paper,  and 
handed  it  to  Gerald. 

"Edith,  will  you  answer  my  letter,  if  I  write  to  you?" 

"I  will,  with  mamma's  permission." 

"  I  shall  often  need  your  kind  sympathy,  and  shall  see  your 
dark  eyes  bent  on  me  with  all  your  old  sisterly  affection ;  how 
often  I  shall  long  for  their  approving  glance !  Good-bye, 
Edith." 

"  Farewell,  Gerald  ;  be  industrious,  faithful,  studious  ;  the 
time  will  pass  away  rapidly,  if  you  keep  busy;  and  you  will 
soon  be  with  us  aguin." 


16  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

As  he  turned  away,  Edith  saw  a  tear  glistening  in  his  eye, 
and  she  prayed  for  God  to  bless  her  youthful  companion. 

Edith  was  very  lonely  for  some  time,  but  with  the  hope- 
fulness of  youth,  she  began  to  count  the  days  which  would 
intervene  before  Gerald  would  return ;  and  though  she 
missed  him  from  all  her  accustomed  haunts,  she  was  too 
busy  with  her  studies  to  allow  the  time  to  hang  heavily. 
Bruno  was  her  constant  companion;  in  all  her  rides  and 
walks  his  presence  was  indispensable,  and  nothing  could  ex- 
ceed his  joy,  when  he  heard  his  young  mistress  calling  him  to 
her  side. 

She  heard  constantly  from  Gerald,  he  made  her  the  confi- 
dant of  all  his  perplexities,  the  partaker  of  all  his  success, 
and  the  sympathizer  in  all  his  troubles.  His  letters  were 
always  shown  to  her  mother,  who  saw  nothing  in  them  but 
kind,  brotherly  love  on  his  part,  and  on  Edith's  the  s\veet 
return  of  a  sister's  pure  affection.  Sometimes,  Mrs.  Clifford 
added  a  postscript,  for  she  pitied  the  sensitive  boy,  so  early 
deprived  of  a  mother's  love,  and  finding  nothing  congenial 
or  womanly  in  his  strong-minded,  masculine  sister,  Josephine. 

At  the  close  of  the  winter,  Edith  received  the  following : 

"  DEAR  EDITH  :  As  there  will  be  a  short  vacation  of  two 
weeks  at  Easter,  I  hope  to  run  up  for  that  period  to  Oak 
Hall,  when  I  shall  again  see  my  dear  old  friends.  I  am 
making  good  progress  in  my  studies.  I  have  endeavored  to 
take  your  advice  with  regard  to  associates,  for  I  have  but  one 
intimate  friend,  who  is  very  studious,  and  an  uncommonly 
smart  fellow ;  he  has  carried  off  several  prizes ;  he  is  a  re- 
ligious youth,  and  takes  no  part  in  any  of  the  diversions 
common  to  young  men.  I  think  that  you  will  like  Ralph 
Cameron  ;  he  is  coming  home  with  me.  How  are  old  Bruno, 
and  all  my  pets  ?  With  love  to  the  home  circle  at  Ravens- 
wood,  I  remain,  as  ever,  your  affectionate 

'  Gerald." 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE     GOVERNESS. 

S.  CLIFFORD  had  been  for  years  in  a 
delicate  state  of  health,  and  had,  therefore, 
been  unable  to  endure  the  toils  of  educating  her 
children  ;  she  could  not  bear,  however,  to  remove 
them  from  under  a  mother's  influence,  and  had 
been  fortunate  in  having  secured  the  services 
of  a  governess  remarkably  gifted  as  a  discip- 
linarian, and  instructress.  She  had  been  a  resident  in  their 
family  ever  since  Frank  was  seven  years  old,  and  Edith 
eight  ;  nine  years  of  constant  and  affectionate  intercourse  had 
greatly  endeared  the  mother  and  the  governess;  and  the 
friendship  existing  between  them  was  disinterested,  elevating, 
enduring  ;  no  single  incident  had  ever  marred  its  happiness, 
for  here  were  two  Christian  females  united  by  perfectly  sym- 
pathizing views  in  the  great  business  of  education.  Miss 
Arnold  had  some  peculiar  ideas,  very  different  from  old 
established  usage,  but  having  made  them  known  to  the  parents 
when  she  first  undertook  the  charge  of  the  children,  they  had 
agreed  to  all  her  plans,  furnished  her  abundantly  with  the 
means  of  carrying  out  her  views,  and  after  having  been  con- 
vinced that  she  was  pious,  sensible,  judicious,  and  highly 
intellectual,  both  parents  resigned  the  government  of  their 
interesting  family  entirely  into  her  hands,  and  were  richly 
repaid  by  the  fruits  of  her  labors.  When  she  first  came 

17 


18  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

among  them,  the  children  were  small,  and  she  told  Mr.  Clif- 
ford that  she  differed  much  from  many,  in  her  opinions  of 
the  best  means  of  training  the  infant  intellect.  She  would 
not  use  books  for  some  time,  but  would  at  first  endeavor  to 
supply  their  thirsty  minds  with  a  stock  of  clear  and  simple 
ideas;  therefore  she  would  wish  a  room  where  she  could 
have  a  cabinet  filled  with  specimens  from  the  animal,  vege- 
table, and  mineral  world,  birds,  plants,  minerals,  shells, 
diagrams,  pictures  of  animals,  specimens  of  everything 
which  could  appeal  to  the  senses,  numerical  frames,  a  piano, 
materials  for  drawing,  &c.  Mr.  Clifford,  judging  wisely,  that 
money  laid  out  in  education  was  well  invested,  spared  no 
pains  or  expense. 

Accordingly,  a  large  room,  light,  airy,  cheerful  was  fur- 
nished, as  Miss  Arnold  directed,  for  a  school-room.  It  was 
neatly  carpeted,  provided  with  pretty  desks  and  chairs,  where 
attention  was  paid  to  their  fitness  for  promoting  comfort  and 
physical  development.  The  walls  were  hung  with  pictures 
of  animals,  plants,  flowers,  costumes  of  nations, — in  fine, 
everything  which  could  give  useful  and  entertaining  information. 
On  one  side,  were  cabinets  filled  with  objects  properly  classified, 
birds,  butterflies,  and  insects;  another  filled  with  minerals, 
shells,  &c. ;  another  with  specimens  of  all  kinds  of  common 
objects,  such  as  a  tuft  of  wool,  a  pod  of  cotton,  a  bunch  of 
flax,  a  cocoon  of  silk,  some  stalks  of  wheat,  rye,  corn,  &c. 
Pictures  descriptive  of  real  islands,  mountains,  hills,  lakes, 
rivers,  valleys,  cities,  towns,  &c.,  where  the  object  represented 
as  it  really  exists,  gives  clear  ideas  of  the  terms  used  in 
geography.  Such  a  room  is  like  a  charming  museum,  where 
young  pupils  would  acquire  a  love  of  knowledge,  such  as  no 
thrumming  over  worn  out  books  could  ever  supply. 

We  will  pay  a  visit  for  a  moment  to  some  of  the  institu- 
tions for  the  education  of  the  young.  The  school-room  is 
small,  confined,  and  gloomy ;  the  children  are  seated  on  low 
benches,  without  any  support  for  their  backs ;  some  with 
slates  in  their  hands,  scrawling  figures  without  ideas,  and 
letters  without  meaning.  The  teacher  sits  at  a  desk,  with  a 


THE   GOVERNESS.  19 

dull,  lifeless  aspect.  A  poor  little  child  is  standing  by  her 
side,  with  a  worn-out  primer  in  its  hand. 

"  What  letter  is  that?"     Answer,  "B." 

"No,  it  is  D.     What  is  that?"     Answer,  "A." 

"  No,  it  is  O.     Now  mind,  that  is  0." 

The  child  begins  to  yawn,  and  gaze  about  the  room. 

"  Look  on  your  book  ;  you'll  never  learn  anything.  What 
letter  is  that  ?"  Answer,  "  J." 

"  No,  that  is  G.  Now  what  does  that  spell  ? — D-o-g — • 
D-o-g."  "  I  don't  know." 

"  That  spells  dog.     Now,  say  dog." 

By  this  time  the  child  is  very  tired,  for  its  interest  is  not 
excited.  While  this  tiresome  lesson  is  going  on  at  the  desk, 
the  other  little  ones,  becoming  weary  of  their  slates,  are  be- 
ginning to  tease  each  other. 

"  Teacher,  Sarah  is  pulling  my  hair !" 

"  Teacher,  Harry  is  rubbing  out  my  figures !" 

"  Teacher,  may  I  go  down-stairs  ?" 

And  the  poor  lady  is  annoyed  for  three  hours  in  succession, 
by  similar  trials  of  her  patience. 

We  will  turn  to  another  picture,  and  enter  Miss  Arnold's 
inviting  room.  It  is  a  bright  spring  morning.  Seated  at 
her  table,  we  behold  the  pleasant  teacher,  neatly  dressed, 
with  a  cheerful,  smiling  aspect.  We  will  describe  a  day 
when  they  were  all  quite  young.  Edith,  Frank,  Madge, 
Blanche,  and  Adele,  are  seated  around  the  table,  while  Miss 
Arnold  is  opening  school  with  little  Lilly  seated  on  her  lap. 
Happy  children  !  surrounded  by  the  singing  of  sweet  spring 
birds  around  the  school-room  windows.  There  is  as  much 
of  harmony  within ; — the  harmony  of  loving  hearts,  of  neat 
attire,  of  intellectual  food,  properly  administered.  Happy 
children,  to  be  thus  early  blessed ! 

On  the  particular  occasion  to  which  we  have  already 
referred,  all,  who  are  able  to  read,  have  Bibles  in  their  hands. 
Each  reads  a  verse  from  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  Frank 
reads,  "  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit,  for  theirs  is  the  king- 
dom of  heaven."  Miss  Arnold  questions  them  as  follows : 


20  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  Frank,  what  is  meant  by  poor  in  spirit  ?" 
"  I  suppose  that  it  means  humble,  meek,  lowly." 
"  I'll  tell  you,  dear.     I  saw  a  boy,  the  other  day,  walking 
out   in   the   avenue.     A  country  boy,  much   younger,   came 
along,  and  said  something  insulting.     The  large  boy  flew  at 
him  in  a  passion,  and  struck  the  little  boy  in  the  face,  giving 
him  a  black  eye.     What  kind  of  a  spirit  had  he?" 

Frank's  face  colored,  as  he  answered,  "  He  had  a  hasty, 
passionate  temper,  I  suppose." 

"  Imagine  that  he  had  gone  up  to  the  little  boy,  and  said, 
gently,  '  I  am  sorry  that  you  made  that  speech.  I  feel  very 
kindly  towards  you,  and  will  show  you  that  I  do,  if  you  will 
come  with  me  to  the  house.'  What  kind  of  a  spirit  would 
the  boy  show  ?" 

"  He  would  show  a  meek  and  lowly  spirit." 
"  Yes ;  that  is  what  is  meant  by  being  poor  in  spirit." 
"  But,  Miss  Arnold,"  replied  Frank,  "  the  boys  would  call 
that  mean-spirited." 

"  Was  the  blessed  Saviour  mean-spirited,  when  it  is  said  of 
him,  that,  when  dreadfully  abused  and  persecuted,  and  even 
struck  by  cruel  men,  that  '  He  opened  not  his  mouth  ?'  Just 
imagine  the  holy  sufferer,  so  calm,  so  quiet,  so  dignified. 
Could  you  call  that  undaunted,  heavenly  countenance  mean- 
spirited  ?  And  we  are  told  to  follow  his  example." 

And  thus  she  continued  to  remark,  for  a  few  minutes,  upon 
these  words  of  Jesus,  while  the  children  listened  in  rapt  at- 
tention ;  then  going  to  the  piano,  she  played  a  sweet  hymn, 
in  which  they  all  joined,  and  then  offered  a  simple,  fervent 
prayer,  for  guidance,  and  for  blessing. 

"  Now,  children,  we  are  ready  for  the  lessons  of  the  day." 
Frank,  Edith,  and  Madge,  being  old  enough,  are  preparing 
their  recitations ;  but  Blanche,  Adele,  and  Lilly,  are  taught 
by  another  method.     Going  to  a  cabinet,  Miss  Arnold  takes 
out  a  tuft  of  wool,  and  brings  it  to  the  table. 
"  What  is  this,  Blanche  ?" 
"  It  is  wool  ?" 
"  Where  does  it  come  from  ?" 


THE   GOVERNESS.  21 

"  From  the  back  of  a  sheep." 

"  What  is  it  used  for?" 

"Clothing,  blankets,  carpets,  &c." 

"  Is  it  hard  or  soft?     Bring  me  something  hard." 

Blanche  runs  and  brings  a  piece  of  wood. 

"  Adele,  bring  me  a  picture  of  a  sheep." 

She  runs  and  brings  one. 

"  What  kind  of  an  animal  is  a  sheep?" 

"  It  is  gentle,  timid,  useful." 

"  Name  some  of  the  uses." 

Each  child  eagerly  names  something. 

"  Who  are  compared  to  lambs  in  the  Bible  ?" 

"  Young  Christians." 

After  all  these  questions,  and  many  more,  are  asked,  the 
black-hoard  is  resorted  to,  and  the  words  sheep,  lamb,  wool, 
hard,  &c.,  are  written  with  chalk  on  the  board,  and  the  chil- 
dren taught  to  spell  and  pronounce  each  carefully.  Thus, 
with  each  word,  ideas  are  connected. 

"  Now  to  what  kingdom  does  the  sheep  belong  ?" 

"  To  the  animal  kingdom,"  replies  Adele. 

"  How  many  different  kingdoms  are  in  this  room  ?" 

"  Three." 

"  What  are  they  ?" 

"The  animal,  the  vegetable,  and  the  mineral  kingdoms." 

"  Name  an  animal,  Lilly." 

She  eagerly  calls  out,  "  A  peacock." 

"  Name  a  vegetable." 

Another  calls  out,  "  Wheat,  rye,  corn." 

"  Name  a  mineral." 

Another  eagerly  exclaims,  "Slate,  crystal,  iron,  gold." 

The  blackboard  is  called  for  again.  Peacock,  wheat,  rye, 
corn,  slate,  crystal,  iron  are  spelled. 

"  Now  which  of  you  can  give  me  an  account  of  what  you 
have  learned  to-day?" 

Blanche  threw  up  her  little  hand  again. 

"  Well,  let  me  hear,"  said  Miss  Arnold. 

"  We  have  learned  that  wool  grows  on  the  back  of  sheep  ; 


22  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

that  the  sheep  is  very  timid,  gentle,  useful ;  that  wool  is  useful 
for  clothing,  blankets,  carpets.  We  have  learned  that  all 
things  are  divided  into  three  kingdoms, — the  animal,  the 
vegetable,  and  mineral.  This  room  is  full  of  such  things." 

"  Now,  children,  get  your  slates,  and  copy  the  words  from 
the  black-board  ;  that  is  your  writing  and  spelling  lesson." 

Any  intelligent  person  witnessing  the  interest  manifested 
in  such  a  lesson,  would  be  at  once  convinced  by  the  animated 
looks  and  gestures  of  these  highly  favored  children,  that  here 
the  intellect  is  really  improved,  and  the  pupils  deeply  inter- 
ested. When  the  copy  is  completed,  and  the  words  correctly 
spelled,  their  kind  teacher,  with  a  pleasant  smile,  says : 
"  Now,  children,  run  out  a  little  while,  and  see  which  of  you 
can  bring  me  specimens  from  all  the  kingdoms  which  I  have 
named  to-day."  While  they  are  gone,  she  proceeds  to  hear 
Frank  and  the  two  girls  their  lesson  in  General  History ; 
every  difficult  word  is  explained,  and  they  are  not  only 
required  to  recite  perfectly,  but  to  make  their  own  remarks 
upon  characters,  incidents,  &c.,  as  they  proceed ;  after  this 
lesson  has  been  fully  mastered,  they  are  required  to  write  an 
abstract  in  a  book  prepared  for  the  purpose,  ready  for  next 
day.  No  mere  parrot  teaching  is  inflicted  upon  these  chil- 
dren ;  books  are  made  interesting,  and  knowledge  delightful. 
Their  school-room  is  one  of  the  happiest  spots  in  the  house, 
and  not  a  place  for  stupefying  the  puzzled  brains  of  unfor- 
tunate children.  In  about  half  an  hour,  Blanche  has  brought 
in  a  pigeon,  Adele  a  bunch  of  flowers,  and  Lilly  a  rusty  old 
nail. 

"  Name  this,  children,"  said  Miss  Arnold,  as  she  caught 
the  pigeon. 

"  Mine  is  an  animal,"  said  Blanche.  "  And  mine  a  vege- 
table," said  Adele.  "And  mine  a  mineral,"  said  little 
Lilly. 

After  a  sprightly  lesson  in  geography,  and  an  animating 
game  of  mental  arithmetic,  Miss  Arnold  bade  the  children 
prepare  for  their  walk,  and  quickly  attired  in  suitable 
clothing,  they  started  off  on  their  daily  excursion.  On  this 


THE   GOVERNESS.  23 

morning,  she  directed  their  course  down  the  avenue,  and  out 
into  the  road,  which  led  them  down  a  steep  hill,  until  they 
reached  a  shady  lane. 

"  I  am  going  to  take  you  this  morning,  children,  down  to 
old  Aunt  Becky's ;  she  is  very  sick,  and  perhaps  she  wants 
something." 

They  all  ran  cheerfully  along,  except  Madge,  who  was  a 
wilful  child,  and  never  willing  to  take  out-door  exercise. 
Miss  Arnold  saw  that  a  perverse  fit  was  on  her ;  she  did  not 
chide  her,  but  turning  to  her,  pleasantly,  said  : 

"  Come,  Madge,  I  want  you  for  my  little  companion ; 
Blanche  and  Adele  have  run  away  from  me." 

"  My  shoe  pinches  me,  Miss  Arnold,  and  I  would  rather  go 
back  home." 

"  Come  here,  Madge,  and  I  will  make  it  comfortable,"  and 
taking  off  her  shoe,  she  perceived  that  there  was  a  crease  in 
her  stocking,  which  she  soon  smoothed,  and  the  child  could 
then  walk  comfortably.  Blanche  and  Adele  were  in  high 
glee,  and  ran  races  all  the  way,  and  when  they  reached  Aunt 
Becky's  cottage,  their  glowing  faces  brightened  the  old 
woman's  lowly  dwelling.  They  found  her  suffering  very  much 
with  the  "  rheumatiz,"  as  she  styled  it. 

"  Bless  your  dear  hearts,  young  ladies,  I'm  right  glad  to 
see  you,  for  I'm  so  lonesome  like  when  my  old  man  goes  away 
to  work,  that  I  feel,  sometimes,  as  if  I  must  get  right  out  of 
bed,  and  go  too,  but  I'm  so  lame,  that  I  can  hardly  move, 
any  how." 

"  Can  we  do  anything  for  you,  aunty  ?"  said  Miss  Arnold. 

"  Well,  honey,  if  you  could  send  me  a  little  nice  tea,  and 
some  warm  flannel  for  my  old  limbs,  I  would  be  a  thousand 
times  obleeged  to  ye." 

"  You  shall  have  what  you  want,  aunty ;  shall  I  read  a 
few  verses  to  you  from  the  blessed  book  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  thank'ee,  too,  dear." 

Miss  Arnold,  telling  the  children  to  be  seated,  read  a  few 
verses  from  her  little  pocket  Testament,  which  she  always 
carried  with  her.  Aunt  Becky  thanked  her  warmly,  and 


24  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

then  they  bade  the  old  woman  good-bye,  promising  to  send 
the  comforts  she  needed.  Frank  and  Edith  engaged  to 
bring  them  in  the  afternoon,  and  thus  they  had  learned 
another  lesson,  on  the  duty  and  blessedness  of  deeds  of 
benevolence.  These  were  the  practical  lessons  daily  learned 
from  their  excellent  governess ;  the  intellect,  the  heart,  the 
character  were  daily  strengthened  and  purified,  under  her 
blessed  influence. 

When  they  returned,  the  three  elder  children  resumed 
their  studies,  which  occupied  their  time,  until  within  half  an 
hour  of  dinner.  Miss  Arnold  was  a  fine  classical  scholar  ; 
she  conducted  these  branches  with  the  elder  children,  and 
was  preparing  Frank  for  college.  Contrary  to  her  usual 
course,  she  permitted  Madge  at  twelve  to  commence  these 
studies,  for  the  child's  understanding  was  so  remarkable, 
that  she  had  really  mastered  all  the  elementary  branches  of 
an  English  education  ;  music  and  drawing  also  had  a  proper 
place  in  her  instruction.  Having  deep  insight  into  character, 
she  wielded  the  sceptre  of  authority  with  a  skilful  hand,  and 
while  she  had  secured  general  obedience,  the  mode  by  which 
she  governed,  could  scarcely  have  been  described  by  her 
young  charge. 

Frank's  impetuous  character  had  caused  her  much 
anxiety.  Madge's  perverse,  unconquerable  will  sadly  per- 
plexed, and  sometimes  baffled  even  her  powers  of  govern- 
ment; Adele's  love  of  fun,  and  talent  for  repartee  caused 
her  great  uneasiness ;  and  Blanche's  weakness  of  purpose, 
and  yielding  disposition,  often  alarmed  her  watchful  friend. 
With  Madge  she  endeavored  to  avoid  a  contest,  but  if  the 
gauntlet  was  thrown  down  by  the  obstinate  child,  Miss 
Arnold  never  yielded  one  inch  of  requirements  once  laid 
down.  Adele  was  constantly  offending,  and  promising  to  do 
better.  Edith  was  a  source  of  great  comfort ;  having  a  mind 
of  a  high  order ;  to  instruct  her,  was  a  work  of  unmingled 
pleasure.  High  and  lofty  principles  of  action,  were  daily 
striking  their  roots  down  deeply  into  her  character,  and 
though  pride  was  still  her  failing,  Miss  Arnold  hoped  that 


THE   GOVERNESS.  25 

years,  and  the  grace  which  she  desired  for  her  beloved  pupil, 
would  finally  exterminate  the  poisoned  weed. 

She  often  looked  with  trembling  anxiety  at  the  pallid 
countenance,  and  feeble  step  of  her  dear  friend,  the  mother 
of  this  family,  and  prayed  earnestly  that  God  would  spare 
the  Christian  mother  to  her  flock.  Mrs.  Clifford's  physician, 
sometimes  sp^oke  of  a  residence  in  the  south  of  France,  as 
probably  the  only  means  which  could  restore  her  health, 
and  Mr.  Clifford  was  seriously  weighing  the  whole  matter 
in  his  mind.  He  had  written  to  friends  residing  there,  ask- 
ing what  accommodations  could  be  obtained  for  so  large  a 
family ;  what  would  be  the  best  mode  of  reaching  there,  and 
all  other  information  necessary,  ere  taking  a  step  which 
might  prove  so  important;  this  he  intended,  however,  should 
be  a  last  resort,  as  he  had  heard  much  of  Magnolia,  a  place 
in  Florida,  celebrated  for  invalids.  With  the  advice  of  his 
physician,  he  had  concluded  that  in  the  following  autumn, 
he  would  take  his  beloved  wife  to  this  institution,  ere  the 
cold  season  should  commence ;  and  if  no  benefit  was  derived 
from  this,  a  removal  to  the  continent  would  be  the  next  step. 
Madge  became  increasingly  perverse  and  troublesome;  it 
required  all  Miss  Arnold's  wisdom  to  know  how  to  manage 
her. 

One  morning  when  the  bell  for  school  rang,  the  little  girl 
was  nowhere  to  be  found ;  after  a  long  search,  one  of  the 
servants  discovered  her  secreted  in  an  old  garret,  with  her 
favorite  volume  of  Shakespeare  in  her  hand. 

"Miss  Madge,  Miss  Arnold  has  sent  me  to  call  you  down 
to  school." 

"  I  won't  go,  and  you  may  tell  her  so  if  you  please.  I  am 
reading  one  of  my  favorite  plays,  and  I  won't  go  until  I  have 
done." 

"Shall  I  tell  her  what  you  say?" 

"  To  be  sure  you  may,  I'm  not  afraid  of  anybody." 

In  a    few  minutes,  Madge  heard  Miss  Arnold's  foot  upon 
the  stair-case ;  too  proud  to  hide,  she  boldly  met  Miss  Arnold's 
look  of  astonishment,  with  one  of  angry  defiance. 
3 


26  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  Madge,  come  down  with  me,  you  are  setting  a  dreadful 
example  to  your  little  sisters." 

Madge  was  sullen  and  silent. 

"Will  you  not  come?" 

"  No,  I  will  not ;  I  am  tired  of  being  led  about  like  a  poor, 
tame  little  slave." 

"Who  told  you  that  you  are  a  poor,  little  slave?" 

"  Never  mind,  Miss  Arnold,  I  have  one  friend  who  thinks 
something  of  me." 

"  Do  you  mean  Josephine  Fortescue  ?  if  you  do,  she  is  a 
bad  adviser ;  if  you  persevere,  Madge,  in  your  disobedience, 
you  Avill  break  your  mother's  heart." 

Madge  was  softened  for  a  minute,  but  at  last  she  said, 

"  My  mother  does  not  care  for  me,  she  loves  her  beautiful 
children  better,  what  need  I  care  for  her  ?" 

"  Oh !  Madge,  beware  how  you  indulge  in  such  wicked  re- 
bellion. Will  you  come,  or  will  you  not  ?" 

"  I  will  not." 

"  Then  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say.  You  remain  here  in 
confinement,  where  your  meals  will  be  sent,  until  you  are  in 
a  more  obedient  state  of  mind  ;"  and  with  these  words,  Miss 
Arnold  turned  sorrowfully  away,  locked  the  door,  and  put 
the  key  in  her  pocket. 

Much  as  it  grieved  her,  she  was  obliged  to  tell  Mrs.  Clif- 
ford of  the  state  of  affairs,  in  accounting  for  Madge's  ab- 
sence from  the  family  circle.  The  mother  fully  justified  Miss 
Arnold  in  her  course.  Her  meals  were  sent  up  regularly,  by 
the  maid  in  charge  of  the  nursery,  and  at  bed-time,  she 
entered  the  next  room,  where  she  staid  all  night,  for  fear  that 
Madge  should  be  frightened  in  the  dark. 

But  the  child  remained  inexorable ;  for  one  week  she  re- 
fused obedience,  until  at  last,  Mrs.  Clifford  was  taken  up 
stairs,  and  with  faltering  step  and  tearful  eyes,  she  entered 
the  room  of  this  misguided,  rebellious  child.  Madge  really 
loved  her  mother,  and  the  sight  of  her  pale,  suffering  face, 
overcame  her,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  her,  in  an  agony 
of  grief,  she  begged  forgiveness, 


THE   GOVERNESS.  27 

When  Madge  appeared  again  in  the  school-room,  the  chil- 
dren were  all  delighted,  for  they  could  not  bear  to  feel  that 
any  one  of  their  number  was  in  a  state  of  punishment.  She 
recited  her  lessons,  performed  her  tasks,  but  after  that  was 
done,  she  shrank  again  into  her  gloomy  shell  of  sullenness 
and  reserve,  and  poring  over  her  favorite  books,  was  all  the 
pleasure  which  she  really  enjoyed. 

Frank  sometimes  made  an  attempt  to  draw  her  out,  but 
she  always  repulsed  him  with  scorn ;  even  Edith  had  no  in- 
fluence; she  was  angry  with  Blanche,  because  she  was  so 
beautiful,  and  with  Adele,  because  she  was  so  merry  and 
witty.  One  day,  moping  in  her  corner,  Adele  came  running 
up  to  her,  and  saying,  in  a  sportive  manner, 

It  is  very  well  seen, 

That  Madge  is  a  queen, 
For  her  walk  is  so  lofty  and  grand; 

She  holds  up  her  head, 

It  is  frequently  said, 
Far  above  all  the  great  in  the  land, 

Madge  did  not  fancy  the  mocking  reverence  with  which 
Adele  went  backing  out  of  the  room,  as  though  in  the  pre- 
sence of  majesty. 

Mrs.  Clifford  and  Miss  Arnold  had  many  consultations 
about  the  misguided,  unhappy  child ;  and  both  concluded 
that  obedience  must  be  enforced  at  all  times ;  and  although 
they  could  not  change  the  proud  and  wayward  heart,  they 
could  take  her  case  to  the  Great  Physician,  who  only  could 
expel  the  evil  spirit.  When  alone,  she  still  brooded  sullenly 
over  what  she  called  her  wrongs ;  ever  complaining  that  no 
one  loved  her,  constantly  forgetting  that  love  begets  love, 
and  attributing  to  others,  faults  most  glaring  in  herself. 
But  resolutely  she  kept  her  feelings  to  herself;  and  as  usual, 
avoided  all  society  but  that  which  she  found  in  books.  And 
yet  there  was  in  that  little  heart  a  capacity  for  loving,  yea, 
and  that  to  idolatry ;  but  the  question  who  should  awaken 
that  better  spirit,  had  not  yet  beei  answered. 


CHAPTEE    III. 


THE    STRONG-MINDED    WOMAN. 

HE  nearest  neighbors  to  the  Cliffords,  were  the 
Fortescue   family,  the   wealthy   occupants   of 
Oak  Hall.     Both  parents  had  died  when  the 
children  were  very  young,  consequently,  they  had 
been  placed  under  the  care  of  an  estimable,  but 
not  very  energetic  lady,  Miss  Mary  Preston,  a  sis- 
ter of  Mrs.  Fortescue. 

Gerald,  the  younger,  had  always  been  an  amiable, 
gentle  boy,  very  imaginative,  and  passionately  fond  of  the 
beautiful,  whether  in  nature  or  art ;  his  talent  for  painting 
was  very  remarkable,  and  had  early  developed  itself  in  the 
youth.  With  these  refined  and  delicate  tastes,  were  corres- 
ponding traits  of  character;  although  possessed  of  warm 
affections,  a  lack  of  firmness  was  his  great  defect;  on  this 
account  Aunt  Mary  and  Mrs.  Clifford  dreaded  the  period 
when  he  should  come  into  contact  with  the  world  around  him, 
and  be  called  upon  to  act  on  the  great  theatre  of  human 
life. 

Josephine,  on  the  contrary,  who  was  the  elder,  early  ex- 
hibited great  talents  and  strong  traits  of  character;  an 
indomitable  will,  and  great  pride  of  opinion  made  her,  even 
in  her  childhood,  quite  beyond  the  control  of  good  Aunt 
Mary,  who  was  advised  to  send  her  early  away  from  home. 
A  celebrated  institution  in  New  England  was  chosen  as  the 
28 


THE   STRONG-MINDED   WOMAN.  29 

place  where  Josephine  Fortescue  was  to  be  fitted  for  woman's 
holy  calling.  It  was  a  college  of  great  note,  and  as  she  had 
exhibited  uncommon  gifts,  a  school  was  selected  that  presented 
the  very  highest  advantages.  It  had  not  been  told  innocent 
Aunt  Mary  that  the  whole  tendency  of  education  there  was 
masculine,  and  would  foster  all  those  peculiarities  which  she 
wished  most  carefully  corrected. 

When  she  heard  of  Spartan  strength  mingled  with  Attic 
refinement,  she  thought  that  it  was  some  great  achievement 
in  the  field  of  education,  and  that  these  were  names  of  some 
great  men,  who  had  named  their  systems  after  themselves, 
and  there  she  rested  satisfied. 

Josephine's  reports  from  year  to  year  were  most  flattering; 
she  obtained  many  prizes,  and  although  in  her  visits  home 
during  seasons  of  vacation,  her  good  aunt  saw  that  her  views 
became  still  more  independent,  and  her  manners  more  rude 
and  dogmatical,  she  thought  that  it  was  impossible  to  check 
these  strong  tendencies,  and  was  therefore  contented  to  let 
matters  take  their  own  course. 

Occasionally,  papers  were  sent  home  giving  accounts  of 
the  pupils'  performances  in  public,  and  frequently  the  name 
of  Josephine  Fortescue  was  pointed  out,  as  the  one  excelling 
in  composition  and  oratory.  Articles  were  often  sent  from 
her  pen,  that  displayed  great  vigor  of  intellect  in  one  so 
young ;  but  the  subjects  she  discussed,  were  those  belonging 
especially  to  the  province  of  man.  Political  economy, 
slavery,  woman's  rights,  moral  reform,  the  age  of  progress, 
the  downfall  of  priestcraft  and  superstition,  were  the  sub- 
jects chiefly  engrossing  her  attention ;  and  Aunt  Mary, 
though  sometimes  alarmed  at  some  of  her  bold  expressions, 
did  not  see  the  tendency  of  all  this  unwomanly  pride  of 
intellect. 

When  Josephine  graduated,  it  was  with  high  honors  ;  and 
her  misguided  female  friends  predicted  for  her,  most  un- 
wisely, a  brilliant  course  in  the  world  of  letters.  Upon  her 
return  home,  she  brought  with  her  one  of  the  great  advo- 
cates of  her  new  theories,  Miss  Penelope  Grimshaw,  a  tall, 


30  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

commanding,  masculine  woman,  a  great  contrast  to  the  femi- 
nine appearance  of  her  young  friend,  for  Josephine  was  pos- 
sessed of  a  very  agreeable  figure,  and  handsome,  though 
strikingly  marked  countenance. 

Miss  Grimshaw  seemed  to  possess  unbounded  influence 
over  Josephine,  and  they  proceeded  at  once  to  improve  some 
of  good  Aunt  Mary's  old-fashioned  notions  of  housekeeping 
and  feminine  propriety. 

Miss  Grimshaw  had  brought  her  own  horse,  and  two  dogs, 
which  she  attended  to  herself.  Josephine,  of  course,  must 
have  the  same,  on  the  plea  that  out-door  sports  were  indis- 
pensable to  health ;  and  that  a  woman  had  as  good  a  right 
to  take  charge  of  the  stable  and  kennel  as  a  man,  if  it  suited 
her  notions  and  her  views  of  health. 

Much  to  Aunt  Mary's  surprise  and  dislike,  in  a  few  days 
Josephine  and  Miss  Grimshaw,  at  an  early  hour  in  the 
morning,  made  their  appearance  in  their  stable  dress, — high 
boots,  very  short  dresses,  and  a  coarse,  dark  smock,  with 
hair  turned  entirely  back,  under  a  man's  cap.  Thus 
arrayed,  they  proceeded  to  the  stable,  where  they  curried 
their  horses,  fed  their  dogs,  then  returned  to  breakfast,  and 
immediately  after,  dressed  in  a  very  masculine  habit,  and 
accompanied  by  their  dogs,  they  started  for  a  ride  on  horse- 
back. They  were  accomplished  riders,  and  thought  nothing 
of  leaping  a  five-barred  fence,  fording  creeks,  and  dashing 
ahead  over  all  obstacles.  They  soon  became  subjects  of  re- 
mark among  the  old-fashioned  farmers. 

Their  morning  hours  were  devoted  to  their  studies,  which 
were  very  severe. 

Miss  Grimshaw  was  a  noted  character,  and  publicly  main- 
tained the  doctrine,  that  women,  possessed  of  talents,  had 
as  good  a  right  to  be  a  physician,  a  lawyer,  a  statesman,  or 
a  preacher,  as  man,  provided  she  possessed  the  ability.  She 
was  filling  Josephine's  mind  with  an  overwhelming  conceit 
of  her  superiority,  and  urging  her  to  obey  the  call  which 
she  affirmed  had  already  been  given  to  the  young  girl,  say- 
ing, that  gifts  such  as  her's  must  be  exercised  for  the  public 


THE   STRONG-MINDED   WOMAN.  31 

good.  They  both  manifested  much  contempt  for  the  proprie- 
ties of  female  attire,  and  would  conform  to  no  fashion  if  they 
esteemed  it  at  all  inconvenient  or  troublesome. 

In  avoiding  long  dresses,  which  trammelled  their  move- 
ments, they  wore  theirs  immodestly  short,  very  high  in  the 
neck,  and  plain  linen  collars,  on  the  ground  that  any  atten- 
tion paid  to  their  attire  was  a  waste  of  time,  forgetting  that 
should  all  females  follow  the  course  which  they  had  adopted, 
hundreds,  yea,  thousands,  would  be  deprived  of  a  means  of 
support,  which  the  use  of  articles  of  taste  constantly  fur- 
nishes. They  paid  no  particular  attention  to  female  accom- 
plishments generally,  as  they  contended  that  they  were  only 
of  use  to  the  common  class  of  females,  and  unworthy  of 
their  notice.  Miss  Grimshaw  had  attempted  sculpture,  and 
Josephine  displayed  considerable  talent  for  painting;  but  all 
her  subjects  were  chosen  from  among  models  suitable  for  a 
masculine  taste.  Aunt  Mary  was  much  grieved  on  witness- 
ing these  developments  in  her  niece.  She  endeavored  to 
direct  her  talents  in  another  channel,  but  Josephine  only 
pitied  her  narrow  mind,  and  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her  kind, 
womanly  advice.  Mrs.  Clifford  and  Miss  Arnold  were  pecu- 
liarly shocked,  and  feared  the  unsettling  of  all  that  was 
lovely  and  of  good  report  in  woman. 

During  Miss  Grimshaw's  stay  at  Oak  Hall,  a  notice  ap- 
peared in  a  New  York  paper  of  a  lecture  on  "  woman's 
rights,"  to  be  delivered  by  that  lady  at  one  of  the  public 
halls.  She  presented  tickets  to  the  Clifford  family;  but  none 
attended,  as  their .  ideas  of  female  modesty  and  decorum, 
utterly  prevented  their  acceptance.  Josephine  accompanied 
Miss  Grimshaw,  and  much  offended  her  aunt  by  sitting  on 
the  platform  with  her  and  other  persons  of  kindred  senti- 
ments. She  delivered  her  lecture  in  a  masterly  manner,  and 
betrayed  not  the  slightest  embarrassment  at  the  sight  of  so 
large  an  audience.  Occasional  hisses  did  not  daunt  her 
in  the  least,  when  uttering  some  sentiments  which  were  too 
bold  and  unblushing,  even  for  an  audience  composed  chiefly 
of  those  who  sympathised  with  her  in  her  views. 


32  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

On  the  next  day,  Josephine  paid  a  visit  to  the  Cliffords, 
and  meeting  Miss  Arnold,  she  said,  "I  am  sorry  that  you 
were  not  with  us  last  evening  ;  you  missed  a  great  treat." 

"  I  would  not  sanction  by  my  presence,  what  I  do  heartily 
disapprove  of,  Josephine,"  replied  Miss  Arnold. 

"And  pray  why?  Are  you  also  a  slave  to  the  vulgar 
prejudice  of  hiding  a  woman's  talents  under  a  bushel?" 
asked  the  young  lady. 

"  By  no  means,  my  young  friend.  I  wish  woman  to  obey 
the  divine  precept  of  our  Lord,  when  he  says,  '  Let  your 
light  so  shine  before  men,  that  they  may  see  your  good  works, 
and  glorify  your  father  which  is  in  heaven.'  I  apprehend 
that  the  hand  which  penned  the  little  word  so,  would  veil 
the  uncovered  heads  of  those  strong-minded  ladies,  and  point 
them  away  from  the  forum,  the  pulpit,  and  the  hall  of  public 
debate,  to  the  sweet  retirement  of  the  private  fireside  ;  or,  if 
her  spirit  burned  to  scatter  light  by  her  pen,  it  would  kindly 
open  the  door  of  her  study,  whence  she  might  with  true 
womanly  modesty,  pour  out  a  stream  of  gentle,  holy  influence, 
refreshing  as  the  silent  dew,  and  leave  to  man  the  stormy 
arena  of  fierce  debate." 

"And  would  you  condemn  those  female  apostles,  who, 
possessed  of  mental  power,  seek  to  influence  public  opinion, 
and  to  correct  moral  abuses  ?"  asked  Josephine. 

"  Your  question  is  answered  in  the  word  of  God,  Josephine; 
where,  in  the  blessed  sanctuary  of  home,  as  a  mother,  wife, 
sister,  friend,  teacher,  or  a  sympathizer  with  human  griefs, 
woman  is  directed  to  exert  her  influence." 

"  And  what  would  you  have  a  woman  do  with  her  talents, 
when  they  are  of  an  uncommon  order  ?"  asked  Josephine. 

"  In  the  beautiful  sphere  where  God  has  placed  her,  to  use 
them  for  His  glory,"  replied  Miss  Arnold. 

"  And  pray  tell  me,  is  the  quiet  privacy  of  home  a  theatre, 
where  a  gifted  woman  can  display  her  talents?  "Will  you 
not  allow  that  many  women  are  possessed  of  masculine 
minds?  ' 

"  I  do ;  but  I  dc  not  think  that  they  are  so  much  to  be 


THE   STRONG-MINDED   WOMAN.  33 

admired  or  beloved,  as  those  who  are  more  feminine,"  an- 
swered Miss  Arnold. 

"  When  thus  endowed,  will  you  pretend  to  say,  Miss  Ar- 
nold, that  they  ought  not  to  aspire  to  men's  positions,  on  ac- 
count of  the  mere  difference  in  sex?"  asked  Josephine. 

"  Listen,  my  young  friend,  while  I  quote  the  language  of 
inspiration  ;  this  covers  the  whole  ground  of  woman's  holy 
duties  and  blessed  privileges. 

"  '  Let  the  woman  learn  in  silence  with  all  subjection  ;  but 
I  suffer  not  a  woman  to  teach,  nor  to  usurp  authority  over  the 
man,  but  to  be  in  silence.'  And  again :  '  Let  your  women 
keep  silence  in  the  churches,  for  it  is  not  permitted  unto  them 
to  speak  :  but  they  are  commanded  to  be  under  obedience,  as 
also  saith  the  law.'  'And  if  they  will  learn  anything,  let 
them  ask  their  husbands  at  home  ;  for  it  is  a  shame  for  women 
to  speak  in  the  church.'  This  is  the  language  of  the  apostle 
Paul ;  and  furthermore,  laying  aside  the  negative,  let  me 
direct  your  attention  to  positive  obligations.  '  That  they  may 
teach  the  young  women  to  be  sober,  to  love  their  husbands,  to 
love  their  children,  to  be  discreet,  keepers  at  home,  obedient 
to  their  own  husbands.'  And  again :  '  Wives,  submit  yourselves 
unto  your  own  husbands,  as  unto  the  Lord,  for  the  husband  is 
the  head  of  the  wife.'  '  For  after  this  manner  in  the  old  time 
the  holy  women  also,  who  trusted  in  God,  adorned  themselves, 
being  in  subjection  unto  their  own  husbands,  even  as  Sarah 
obeyed  Abraham,  calling  him  Lord.'  " 

"  I  answer  to  all  this,"  proudly  replied  Josephine,  "  that 
if  the  apostle  had  lived  in  these  days  of  progress,  he  would 
have  known  woman's  place  much  better." 

"  Do  you  pretend  to  say,  my  child,  that  the  apostle  was  not 
inspired?"  asked  Miss  Arnold,  much  pained. 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  much  dispute  among  deep  thinkers," 
answered  the  young  girl.  "  It  appears  to  me  that  he  took 
very  narrow  and  contracted  views,  as  regards  woman's  rights." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  popular  phrase,  Josephine  ?" 

"  1  mean  that  she  is  entitled  to  perfect  equality  with  man, 
when  God  has  endowed  her  with  superior  abilities." 


34  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  If  you  wish  to  place  woman  where  she  can  exercise  won- 
drous power,  it  is  by  the  domestic  fireside.  Ask  the  history 
of  our  great  men,  and  observe  how  many  can  trace  their 
goodness,  and  their  greatness  also,  back  to  the  period  when 
a  holy  mother  planted  the  first  germs  of  divine  truth  in  the 
young  heart." 

"  And  yet,  Miss  Arnold,  the  language  held  by  the  apostle 
Paul  seems  to  imply  a  degree  of  servitude  that  no  intellectual 
woman  could  possibly  render,  especially  to  one  who  is  greatly 
her  inferior,"  answered  Josephine. 

"  Let  her  see  that  she  chooses  for  her  companion  one  whom 
she  can  and  ought  to  respect  and  love,"  replied  Miss  Arnold, 
"  and  then  Scriptural  obedience  will  be  a  pleasant  yoke  ;  but, 
Josephine,  I  am  really  amused  sometimes,  when  I  hear  silly 
women  complaining  of  oppression  in  a  land  like  ours.  I 
presume  nowhere  in  the  world  has  she  so  many  rights  as 
here.  If  she  is  a  good  and  holy  woman,  in  her  household 
she  is  a  queen,  and  generally  leads  her  spouse  by  silken 
reins,  even  when  he  imagines  that  he  is  governing ;  as  a  sister, 
her  brothers  pay  the  greatest  deference  to  her  opinions ;  as  a 
daughter,  a  word  is  sufficient ;  as  a  woman,  alone,  or  in  public 
and  in  private,  she  receives  universal  respect ;  in  public 
vehicles,  and  at  places  of  amusement,  the  best  seat ;  at  the 
table,  the  first  and  best  served ;  and  everywhere  in  America 
she  enjoys  her  full  share  of  privileges ; — there  may  be  some 
exceptions  to  all  general  rules,  but  the  tendency  of  our  nation 
is  to  elevate  woman." 

Josephine,  with  her  usual  obstinacy,  maintained  her  opin- 
ions, but  as  Miss  Arnold  knew  that  she  had  a  heart,  from  the 
love  which  she  manifested  for  her  brother,  she  hoped  that 
her  errors  might  yet  be  corrected,  although  she  saw  much 
trouble  and  disappointment  in  her  path.  She  avoided  female 
companions,  because  she  esteemed  so  few  her  equals;  she 
had  seen  but  few  of  the  other  sex,  and  would  be  slow  to  ac- 
knowledge them  her  superiors.  She  really  loved  her  brother 
Gerald,  but  she  deeply  regretted  what  she  regarded  his  want  of 
manliness,  and  v -as  constantly  lecturing  him  on  his  deficiencies. 


THE   STRONG-MINDED   WOMAN.  35 

He  often  wrote  to  her  of  his  friend  Ralph,  and  from  his 
description,  Josephine  felt  much  anxiety  to  know  his  friend, 
as  she  gathered  from  her  brother's  letters  that  he  was  not  a 
common  character,  and  she  hoped  that  he  would  imbue  her 
gentle,  imaginative  brother  with  some  of  his  mental  and 
moral  power.  She  regarded  her  brother's  reverence  for  sacred 
things  as  another  mark  of  weakness,  and  in  order  to  show  her 
own  freedom  from  priestcraft  and  superstition,  grieved  her 
good  pastor  by  her  neglect  of  the  house,  and  her  desecration 
of  the  day  of  God. 

On  the  holy  Sabbath,  frequently  in  the  company  of  Miss 
Grimshaw,  she  either  spent  her  time  in  reading  secular  books, 
or  else  in  riding  on  horseback.  Miss  Arnold  remonstrated, 
and  Mrs.  Clifford  added  her  gentle  voice  of  warning,  but 
Josephine  was  first  in  pursuing  her  path  of  rebellion  against 
the  authority  of  God,  and  sneered  at  those  who  bent  the 
neck  to  the  Saviour's  gentle  yoke.  Her  good  pastor,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Berkely,  sometimes  ventured  a  remonstrance, 
but  she  pleaded  superior  light,  and  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  his 
warnings. 

Her  example  to  her  servants  was  all  on  the  side  of  un- 
godliness, and  Aunt  Mary  grieved  too  late,  that  she  had  un- 
consciously placed  her  among  evil  influences ;  but  she  was 
surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  prayer ;  Mr.  Berkely,  good 
Aunt  Mary,  Mrs.  Clifford,  and  Miss  Arnold,  bore  her  case 
daily  to  a  throne  of  grace,  and  looked  in  faith  for  an  answer 
of  peace. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


RALPH    CAMERON. 

IME  sped  on  eagles'  wings.  Frank  was  rapidly 
preparing  for  college ;  and  Edith  was  daily  im- 
proving under  the  training  of  her  beloved  teacher 
in  all  that  was  good.  Winter  faded  gradually,  un- 
til it  died  in  the  lap  of  spring;  and  the  young  girl 
began  to  look  forward  with  bright  anticipations  to 
Gerald's  return.  She  counted  the  weeks,  then  the 
days,  then  the  hours,  as  he  was  expected  on  the  day 
before  Easter.  Edith,  seated  on  the  piazza,  was  watching  for 
the  first  glimpse  of  his  approaching  figure.  The  veil  of  even- 
ing descended,  and  she  was  almost  despairing,  when  she  saw 
Bruno  scampering  and  barking  up  the  avenue,  as  if  in  great 
glee ;  and  in  the  next  minute,  his  young  master  came  flying  up 
the  old  familiar  path,  with  cap  in  hand,  accompanied  by  a  youth 
somewhat  older  than  himself.  In  another  moment,  a  warm 
grasp  of  the  hand,  and  glowing  smiles,  testified  to  the  joy  of 
the  young  friend.  Gerald  then  turned,  and  introduced  his 
friend,  Ralph  Cameron.  For  a  youth  of  twenty,  his  figure  was 
commanding,  his  step  firm,  and  his  whole  appearance  striking. 
He  had  the  eye  of  an  eagle,  but  which  could  sometimes  melt, 
under  the  influence  of  the  gentler  emotions  of  the  heart.  The 
expression  of  his  mouth  indicated  an  undaunted  will ;  generally 
his  look  was  stern,  but  when  he  smiled,  the  rich  glow  lit  up  his 
whole  countenance. 
36 


EALPII   CAMERON.  37 

"And  this  is  Sister  Edith,"  said  Ralph.  "You  know  not 
what  a  talisman  there  was  in  your  letters,  and  how  often  they 
impelled  Gerald  to  fresh  exertions." 

Edith  blushed  as  she  replied,  "It  made  me  very  happy  to 
write  them." 

By  this  time  they  had  entered  the  house,  and  Gerald,  warmly 
greeted  by  all,  introduced  his  friend  Ralph  to  the  family  group. 
Blanche  and  Adele  were  full  of  open  expressions  of  joy. 

"  Oh !  Gerald,  won't  we  have  some  nice  rows  in  the  boat  ? 
It  is  so  delightful  to  sail  about  now  on  the  river,  and  we  have 
wanted  you  so  much  to  help  Frank  row." 

Madge  was  pleased  to  see  Gerald,  but  she  kept  her  eyes  reso- 
lutely on  the  ground,  for  fear  that  he  would  see  them  flash  the 
joy  which  she  really  felt. 

"  Madge,  come  here,  I  have  something  for  you,"  said  Gerald, 
and  as  she  approached,  he  presented  her  with  a  beautiful  copy 
of  Longfellow's  Poems.  As  she  raised  her  eyes  for  once,  Ralph 
was  struck  with  their  exceeding  beauty ;  but  more  with  the  ex- 
pression of  tearful  gratitude  which  they  expressed.  Forgetting 
herself  for  one  minute,  she  seized  Gerald's  hand,  kissing  it 
warmly ;  in  a  minute,  she  was  so  frightened  at  what  she  had 
done,  that  she  hastily  retreated  with  her  treasure,  to  a  corner 
of  the  room.  Ralph  was  attracted  by  the  singular  manner  of 
the  child,  and  more  so,  as  he  observed  with  what  eagerness  she 
devoured  the  volume,  and  wondered  whether  one  so  young  could 
appreciate  all  its  beauties. 

When  he  found  a  suitable  opportunity,  he  seated  himself  by 
Madge,  and  said  to  her, 

"  What  are  you  reading,  my  little  friend?" 

She  scarcely  raised  her  eyes,  as  she  replied,  timidly, 

"  Evangeline." 

"  Do  you  like  such  poetry  ?" 

"  I  love  it  better  than  anything  else ;"  and  for  fear  of  any 
more  remarks,  she  arose  hastily,  and  left  the  room. 

After  tea,  the  family  assembled  in  the  drawing-room,  where 
a  great  deal  of  sportive  conversation,  and  a  number  of  merry 
games  occupied  the  evening.  All  but  Madge  partook  of  the 


38  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

sport ;  and  when  Ralph  came  forward  and  begged  her  to  join 
them,  she  replied  rather  sullenly,  "They  don't  want  ine,  I'm 
nobody  here." 

"  Do  you  ever  try  them,  or  are  you  not  in  the  habit  of  shun- 
ning your  brothers  and  sisters?  They  seem  to  be  bright  happy 
little  things !" 

She  turned  an  angry  look  upon  Ralph,  as  she  replied,  "What 
right  have  you  to  question  me?  I  would  rather  be  let  alone." 

"  I'm  not  often  baffled,"  replied  Ralph,  "  and  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  that  you  shall  play  to-night.  I  know  that  you 
want  to,  and  I  mean  to  have  you  for  my  companion  in  the 
sport." 

She  looked  at  Ralph,  and  seeing  a  determined  look  upon 
his  face,  she  rather  liked  the  expression,  and  putting  aside  her 
book,  went  along  with  him. 

Believing  that  the  little  girl  was  not  so  disagreeable  as  she 
tried  to  appear,  he  resolved  to  thaw  the  icy  surface.  All 
looked  surprised  when  they  saw  Madge  at  first  going  unwil- 
lingly and  at  last  close  by  the  side  of  Ralph  Cameron,  really 
enjoying  the  fun. 

"  Edith,  just  look  at  Madge,"  said  Gerald.  "  The  enchanter 
has  waved  his  wand  over  her,  and  she  is  entirely  obedient  to 
his  will ;  this  is  the  way  Ralph  rules  everybody." 

"I  am  truly  glad,  Gerald,"  replied  Edith,  "for  really  the 
child's  moodiness  is  sometimes  insufferable,  and  very  trying  to 
dear  mamma." 

After  the  sports  were  all  over,  Madge  kept  close  to  Ralph, 
who  tried  to  draw  her  into  conversation,  and  found  that  the 
child  possessed  a  remarkable  mind,  such  as  is  seldom  seen  in 
childhood.  She  talked  freely  about  her  studies,  and  Madge 
seemed  to  be  far  advanced  for  one  so  young  ;  she  was  quite  a 
good  Latin  scholar  and  mathematician,  excellent  in  history, 
but  her  passion  for  poetry  was  astonishing ;  she  could  repeat 
whole  pages  of  Shakespeare,  but  displayed  a  correct  taste  in 
her  selections.  Madge  had  never  so  completely  unlocked  her 
heart  to  any  one  as  to  Ralph  Cameron  ;  she  felt  happy,  because 
she  saw  that  for  once  she  was  appreciated ;  and  she  looked  up 


RALPH   CAMERON.  39 

gratefully  to  the  young  man  who  had  passed  by  her  lovely 
sisters,  Edith  and  Blanche,  and  her  witty  sparkling  Adele,  and 
had  devoted  himself  for  a  whole  morning  to  ugly  little  Madge. 
He  soon  understood  her  character,  and  felt  a  strong  desire  to 
prune  its  wild  shoots,  and  cultivate  the  flowers,  for  he  con- 
tended that  there  was  much  that  was  redeeming  in  her  strong 
nature.  While  he  remained  at  Oak  Hall,  Gerald  and  he  were 
daily  visitors;  in  all  their  excursions  they  accompanied  the 
young  people,  and  their  presence  added  greatly  to  their  enjoy- 
ment. 

Madge  was  powerfully  drawn  to  Ralph,  for  she  admired  his 
genius,  respected  his  character,  and  was  grateful  for  his  kind- 
ness ;  moreover,  she  was  a  little  afraid  of  him,  and  though  so 
perverse  with  others,  she  allowed  Ralph  to  lead  her  where  he 
would. 

On  the  Sunday  after  their  return,  Gerald  and  Ralph  called 
to  go  to  church  with  the  Cliffords.  Madge  came  forward  evi- 
dently in  her  dishabille.  Ralph,  looking  surprised,  said: 

"  You  are  not  ready  for  church." 

"  No ;  I  am  not  going  to-day." 

"  And  why  not  ?"  said  Ralph. 

"  Because  I  don't  want  to  ;  I  am  not  very  well." 

"  That  means  very  lazy  ;  does  it  not,  Madge  ?" 

She  hung  her  head  and  made  no  reply. 

"  Does  your  mother  wish  you  to  go  ?" 

"  She  does." 

"  Then,  Madge,  run  and  get  dressed ;  I  am  not  going  without 
you,"  said  Ralph. 

She  stole  a  look  at  his  face,  and  saw  just  what  he  meant. 
She  did  not  like  to  be  so  conquered  all  the  time,  and  yet  she 
had  not  the  courage  to  refuse.  So  she  quietly  walked  into  the 
house,  and  came  back  very  soon,  and  while  waiting  for  the 
carriage,  the  following  conversation  took  place. 

"  Madge,  I  am  sorry  to  see  that  you  allow  yourself  to  be  so 
whimsical ;  you  know  your  duty,  why  do  you  take  so  much 
pleasure  in  acting  contrary  to  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Ralph,  but  there  does  seem  to  be  such  a  spirit 


40  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

of  ei.niradiction  in  me,  that  even  when  I  know  it  to  be  wrong, 
I  am  led  on  headlong." 

"  .Madge,  you  are  a  little  girl,  but  you  have  a  strange  char- 
acter ;  if  this  powerful  will  is  directed  aright,  and  bent  while 
you  are  young  into  the  proper  course,  you  may  make  a  firm 
Christian  woman;  but  if  you  allow  it  to  draw  you  headlong 
into  the  path  of  disobedience,  who  knows  where  it  may 
stop  ?" 

Madge  raised  her  eyes,  Avhich  were  now  swimming  in  tears, 
to  Ralph's  face,  and  he  could  scarcely  withstand  their  touching 
appeal,  as  she  said  to  him,  what  she  had  never  said  to  mortal 
man  before : 

"  Forgive  me,  Ralph.  I  know  you  are  my  friend,  you  tell  me 
so  kindly  of  my  faults,  and  you  make  me  do  what  is  right ; 
when  you  are  near  me,  I  feel  impelled  to  do  my  duty  but  what 
shall  1  do  when  you  are  gone  ?" 

"Do  not  forget,  Madge,  that  there  is  a  strong  and  gracious 
Being  ever  near  you ;  He  only  can  aid  you  to  conquer  that 
strong  will ;  He  only  can  subdue  your  proud  heart,  and  make 
you  meek  and  lowly." 

Ralph  Cameron  was  a  young  man  of  sterling  Christian 
character ;  he  had  seen  much  in  the  dark,  awkward  little  girl 
to  interest  him;  he  soon  perceived  that  she  had  uncommon 
talents,  but  a  most  perverse  and  stubborn  will ;  but  he  had 
also  discovered  that  there  were  warm  affections  in  that  young 
heart,  and  though  so  carefully  hidden  in  its  deep  recesses,  he 
had  succeeded  in  awakening  them,  and  bringing  them  into 
life. 

Still,  with  others,  the  same  disposition  exhibited  itself;  the 
same  impatience  of  restraint,  the  same  determined  sullenness, 
the  same  jealousy  of  her  sister's  merits ;  while  these  remained, 
Ralph's  hopes  were  frequently  dashed  to  the  ground.  And  yet 
he  could  not  but  love  the  child,  for  she  really  appeared  to  re- 
gard him  with  a  species  of  idolatry ;  and  his  influence  over  her 
continued  unbounded. 

Her  tyrannical  temper  was  often  exercised  over  her  younger 
sisters,  and  Miss  Arnold  sought  in  vain  to  control  her  wayward 


RALPH   CAMERON.  41 

pupil.  Lilly  was  a  remarkably  sweet  and  gentle  child,  timid 
and  retiring,  and  had  from  her  infancy  been  very  delicate. 
She  was  now  about  six  years  old,  and  was  very  tenderly 
beloved  by  all  save  Madge,  who  was  constantly  finding  fault 
with  the  poor  little  girl,  and  making  her  life  very  unhappy. 

One  day,  Madge  and  Lilly  had  been  sent  to  take  a  basket  of 
little  comforts  to  Aunt  Becky,  and  some  other  poor  persons  in 
the  neighborhood. 

Madge  was  directed,  of  course,  to  carry  the  basket.  She 
was  not  in  a  very  good  humor  when  she  started,  and  when 
about  half  way,  she  made  Lilly  take  the  basket,  and  carry 
it  for  some  distance.  It  was  a  heavy  load  for  such  a  little 
girl ;  she  soon  became  very  tired,  and  unable  to  proceed  any 
farther. 

"  Oh,  sister,  I  am  so  tired,"  said  Lilly,  as  she  sank  down  by 
the  roadside. 

"  You  are  a  lazy  little  thing !"  said  Madge  ;  "  you  only  want 
to  make  me  carry  the  basket  all  the  way." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  very  tired,  sister,  but  I'll  try  again."  And 
the  poor  child,  with  streaming  eyes,  picked  up  the  heavy  load,, 
and  started  off  again.  She  had  not  gone  far,  when  she  sank 
down  again  on  a  stone  step,  by  the  side  of  a  small  stream. 

"  Give  me  the  basket,"  said  Madge,  as  she  pushed  little 
Lilly  aside ;  and  the  child,  being  very  weak,  fell  over  into  the 
stream.  Fortunately,  it  was  very  shallow,  and  Madge  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  her  out  of  the  water,  but  she  was  wet  to  the 
skin,  and  how  to  get  her  home  was  now  the  question.  She 
could  not  walk ;  she  was  in  danger  of  taking  cold  in  her  wet 
clothes.  Madge  saw  some  men  approaching  with  a  wagon, 
and  running  up  to  them,  told  her  story,  and  begged  the  men 
to  take  them  home.  They  kindly  consented.  Poor  little 
Lilly  was  completely  overcome.  Madge  was  terribly  alarmed, 
for  she  saw  that  the  child  was  very  sick. 

When  they  reached  home,  Madge,  who  was  really  truthful, 
told  the  story  just  as  it  was. 

Miss  Arnold  carried  the  fainting  child  up  to  her  bed. 
Violent  chills  succeeded,  and  then  burning  fever  raged 


42  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

furiously.  The  chi!!d  soon  became  delirious,  and  all  her  cry 
was,  "Oh,  sister,  I  am  not  lazy!  I  am  so  tired;  don't  make 
me  curry  the  heavy  basket.  I  am  so  sick!  Oh,  sister,  help 
me  !  help  me  !" 

It  may  be  well  imagined  with  what  feelings  of  agony  Madge 
listened  to  these  heart-rending  cries.  Her  anxiety  was  so  ex- 
treme, that  she  could  scarcely  keep  away  from  the  child's 
chamber-door;  but  these  dreadful  cries  would  send  her  to  the 
gloomy  garret,  when,  with  bitter  reproaches,  she  mourned  over 
the  alarming  illness  of  her  sweet  little  sister. 

For  days,  her  life  hung  upon  a  thread.  At  last  the  crisis 
arrived.  As  she  lay  so  unconscious,  and  almost  as  silent  as 
death,  Madge  watched  in  an  agony  of  remorse.  The  pulse 
was  scarcely  perceptible.  "  Oh,  for  one  moment  of  conscious- 
ness, that  she  might  whisper  forgiveness  ere  she  dies."  This 
was  the  agonizing  cry  of  the  self-accusing  spirit.  "  If  she 
should  die,  where  should  I  hide  my  head  ?" 

None  reproached  her,  for  all  around  her  saw  what  bitter 
anguish  she  was  suffering.  Ralph  was  greatly  distressed. 
He  tried  in  vain  to  see  her,  but  since  the  day  of  the  fatal 
occurrence,  she  had  carefully  avoided  his  presence.  One 
morning,  crossing  the  hall,  he  perceived  the  wretched  girl, 
with  her  head  bowed  down,  and  dejected  step,  walking  down 
the  avenue.  Ralph  started,  with  quickened  pace,  to  join  her; 
but  as  soon  as  Madge  perceived  him,  she  ran  off,  as  if  to  avoid 
him. 

"  Madge  !  Madge !  do  not  run  away  from  me !  Stop !  stop ! 
I  must  speak  to  you !" 

She  paused  for  one  moment,  and  seeing  Ralph's  expression 
of  distress,  waited  for  him,  with  a  downcast  countenance. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  reproach  you,  Madge.  I  know  what 
you  must  suffer,"  said  Ralph. 

"  Don't  speak  kindly  to  me,  Ralph ;  I  don't  deserve  it,"  said 
Madge.  "  I  am  the  murderer  of  my  little  sister ;  everybody 
ought  to  hate  me." 

"  She  may  not  die,  Madge.  I  have  prayed  for  her  life,  and 
I  trust  that  the  symptoms  to-day  are  more  favorable." 


RALPH   CAMERON.  43 

"Even  should  she  live,  Ralph,  I  am  the  same  wicked, 
imperious  child  ;  my  temper  will  be  my  ruin  yet,"  answered 
Madge. 

" Do  you  try  to  overcome  it?  Have  you  ever  gone  to  Jesus, 
and  laid  your  heart  down  at  his  blessed  feet,  and  asked  him  to 
make  it  clean  ?" 

"  No,  Ralph,  I  do  not  think  that  I  have,  for  I  fear  that  it 
would  be  hypocritical  in  me  to  attempt  to  pray  after  such 
cruelty." 

"  Are  you  not  very  sorry,  Madge  ?"  said  Ralph. 

"Yes,  I  think  that  I  am ;  but  then  I  have  been  just  as  sorry 
before,  and  have  fallen  again  into  dreadful  sin.  I  think  if 
Lilly  should  die,  I  shall  never  wish  to  see  any  one  again." 

Taking  the  little  girl  by  the  hand,  and  walking  up  and 
down  the  avenue,  they  continued  to  converse  for  some  time,  and 
Madge  had  lost  much  .of  her  despairing  expression  before  she 
entered  the  house. 

Great  was  the  anxiety  manifested  by  the  whole  family  in 
little  Lilly's  long  slumber,  it  having  been  said  by  the  physi- 
cian that  she  would  either  insensibly  pass  away,  or  awake  to 
life  and  health  once  more.  Her  deathlike  sleep  continued 
for  many  hours.  Late  in  the  evening,  she  unclosed  her  eyes, 
and  recognizing  her  mother,  stretched  out  her  hand  and 
whispered,  "Dear  mamma,  come  kiss  me."  These  were  the 
first  rational  words  she  had  uttered  since  her  illness. 

Ralph  and  Madge  were  in  an  adjoining  room,  waiting 
anxiously  for  the  result ;  and  when  the  tidings  reached  them 
of  her  returning  consciousness,  the  overwrought  feelings  of  the 
remorseful  child  sought  relief  in  violent  convulsive  weeping. 
With  all  the  kindness  of  a  brother,  Ralph  endeavored  to  soothe 
the  little  girl.  He  sympathized  with  her  joy,  and  said,  "  Do 
not  let  us  forget  to  thank  God  for  his  goodness.  I  trust  that  it 
is  the  beginning  of  better  things  for  you,  Madge." 

Lilly  continued  to  mend  rapidly,  and  on  asking  for  Madge, 
she  said,  "  I  do  not  see  you  so  plainly  as  I  used  to,  sister,  but  I 
suppose  it  is  because  I  am  weak ;  but  I  know,  Madge,  how 
sorry  you  have  been  for  making  me  sick,  and  I  want  to  tell 


44  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

you  not  to  cry  about  it  any  more ;"  and  the  sweet  child  drew 
her  sister  down  to  her,  and  kissed  her  affectionately. 

Madge  wept  now  as  much  for  joy,  as  she  had  formerly  done 
for  grief;  and  Miss  Arnold  hoped  that  the  dearly-bought 
lesson  would  never  be  forgotten;  but  "can  the  Ethiopian 
change  his  skin,  or  the  leopard  his  spots?"  has  been  asked  by 
inspiration  of  the  deeply-rooted  sins  of  unrenewed  nature.  The 
answer  can  only  be  given  in  other  equally  impressive  words  of 
inspiration :  "  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all 
sin,"  and  that  alone.  No  maternal  counsel ;  no  judicious 
teaching ;  no  faithful,  watchful  friend ;  no  power  of  a  strong 
will,  could  be  found  sufficient  of  themselves  to  work  in  Madge 
Clifford  the  change  which  grace  alone  could  effect.  Much 
anxiety  was  felt  about  the  continued  weakness  of  Lilly's  eyes, 
and  when  it  was  found  that  she  could  not  distinguish  pictures 
which  had  once  been  so  familiar,  it  was  feared  that  her  sight 
was  seriously  affected.  The  dimness  increased  daily,  until  at 
last  it  was  declared  by  her  physician,  that  Lilly  was  incurably 
blind.  It  was  fearful  to  behold  the  agony  of  Madge.  Lilly's  fal- 
tering step  and  beautiful  but  sightless  eyes,  were  a  perpetual 
reproach  to  the  poor  child.  When  little  Lilly  first  realized 
her  misfortune  her  patient  sorrow  was  touching  in  the  extreme. 

"  Mamma,  shall  I  never  see  the  bright  sun  again,  or  the 
beautiful  flowers  ?  Shall  I  never  see  your  dear  face  any 
more  ?" 

"It  is  God's  will,  Lilly,  and  we  must  not  complain." 

"  Won't  I  be  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  you  all,  mamma  ? 
I  shall  not  be  able  to  go  about  by  myself,  and  then  I  cannot 
learn  any  more  like  the  others  ;  but  I  will  try  to  be  patient, 
dear  mamma,  for  your  sake." 

"  Don't  talk  about  trouble,  my  child ;  we  all  love  you  so 
much  that  we  shall  be  glad  to  wait  upon  you,  and  there  are 
many  things  which  you  can  be  taught  to  do,  Lilly.  I  will  get 
you  some  of  the  books  made  for  the  blind,  and  Miss  Arnold 
will  do  all  that  she  can  for  you  ;  and  when  you  are  old  enough 
we  will  send  you  to  an  institution,  where  you  can  be  taught 
everything." 


RALPH   CAMERON.  45 

"  Mamma,  don't  let  Madge  know  how  I  feel  about  being 
blind,  it  troubles  her  so  much." 

"  I  will  not,  my  dear ;  she  has  been  punished  enough  for  her 
unkindness." 

From  this  day  Mrs.  Clifford's  love  for  her  blind  child  in- 
creased, and  Lilly  was  almost  her  constant  companion ;  weak 
as  Mrs.  Clifford  was,  she  devoted  all  the  strength  which  she 
yet  possessed,  to  interest  and  instruct  the  little  afflicted  one; 
the  love  between  the  two  was  particularly  strong  and  tender. 

Madge  was  quite  as  much  an  object  of  pity  as  poor  little 
Lilly,  and  Miss  Arnold  and  the  mother  both  hoped  much  from 
the  state  of  mind  which  she  manifested.  Still,  the  governess 
was  not  very  sanguine,  as  there  seemed  to  be  no  decidedly 
religious  feeling  operating  upon  her  heart.  She  appeared  to 
be  yet  almost  as  perverse  with  others  as  formerly,  and  there 
was  no  particular  reason  to  suppose  that  she  was  any  more 
prayerful  in  her  habits.  Many  motives  besides  penitence 
toward  God  might  have  produced  her  present  state  of  feeling. 
Sympathy  with  affliction  which  she  had  created,  seemed  now 
to  be  the  most  powerful  feeling. 

She  yet  stood  aloof  from  childish  intercourse;  her  desire 
for  solitude  became  still  greater,  and  none  but  Ralph  Cameron 
could  succeed  in  drawing  the  wayward  child  from  her  gloomy 
thoughts.  Seeing  how  sad  she  was,  and  sometimes  even  sul- 
len, Ralph  sought  by  a  variety  of  means  to  amuse  the  child, 
and  was  busy  inventing  schemes  of  outdoor  enjoyment.  At 
one  time,  an  excursion  into  the  woods,  then  a  sail  upon  the 
water,  then  a  ride  on  horseback,  served  to  vary  the  daily 
amusements,  and  Madge  began  to  dread  the  day  when  Ralph 
and  Gerald  must  return  to  their  college  duties. 


CHAPTER    V. 


ROSY     DREAMS. 


DITH  and  Gerald  were  sad  at  the  thought  of 
parting  so  soon,  and  ere  the  day  arrived,  it  was 
proposed  that  the  young  people,  in  company  with 
Miss   Arnold,   should   form  a  party   to  a  favorite' 
place  of  resort,  a  neighboring  country  seat,  about 
five  miles  off,  now  in  a  state  of  ruin.     They  were 
to  go  in  boats,  taking  provision  for  the  day,  and 
after  a  pic-nic  in  the  old  park,  were  to  return  late  in 
the  afternoon.     The  party  was  composed  of  the  Cliffords,  the 
Fortescues,  and  Ralph  Cameron. 

Gerald  and  Frank  took  charge  of  one  boat,  and  old  Uncle 
Ben  of  the  second.  They  were  plentifully  provided  with  ham} 
cold  chicken,  tarts,  etc.,  and  set  off  about  nine  o'clock. 

It  was  a  beautiful  May  morning,  the  fresh  vivid  green  of 
early  spring  enlivened  the  landscape,  and  the  bright  sun 
gleamed  over  the  whole  scene,  illumining  the  romantic  Hud- 
son, which  sparkled  like  diamonds  in  its  brilliant  rays.  Had 
it  not  been  for  poor  blind  little  Lilly,  who  wiped  away  a 
silent,  tear  when  she  heard  the  delighted  exclamations  of  the 
party,  and  which  also  called  up  a  deep  sigh  from  sorrowful 
Madge,  it  would  have  been  a  day  of  unmixed  pleasure. 
Ralph,  with  his  usual  kindness,  talked  with  Madge,  and  tried 
to  amuse  her ;  and  she,  nearly  always  gentle  with  him,  found 
his  society  a  sufficient  source  of  happiness.  When  they 
46 


ROSY   DREAMS.  47 

arrived,  Madge  led  little  Lilly  about,  searched  out  the  butter- 
cups and  violets  for  the  child,  and  tried  by  many  pleasant 
means  to  beguile  the  tedious  time.  Gerald  and  Edith  were 
seldom  apart,  and  in  pleasant  strolls  and  confidential  chat, 
the  day  passed  too  rapidly  away. 

After  much  enjoyment  they  returned  home  late  in  the  after- 
noon ;  it  was  the  last  excursion  previous  to  the  young  men's  re- 
turn. After  tea,  Edith  walked  out  alone ;  she  felt  sad,  for  it 
was  the  last  evening  that  Gerald  would  be  with  them,  as  he  was 
to  return  on  the  next  day  to  college.  She  strolled  down  the 
avenue  until  she  reached  the  front  gate  ;  standing  there,  under 
her  favorite  elm,  in  a  pensive  mood,  she  Avatched  the  setting  sun 
as  it  gradually  declined  in  all  its  glory,  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  Hudson,  and  lighting  up  the  whole  landscape  with  brilliant 
tints  of  beauty.  With  her  large  flat  thrown  back,  exposing  all 
her  face,  she  seemed  to  be  in  a  deep  reverie ;  there  must  have 
been  pleasant  thoughts  lighting  up  the  beautiful  face  with  such 
radiant  smiles  of  happiness :  the  eyes  were  generally  fixed  upon 
the  glowing  landscape,  but  occasionally  they  would  droop,  when 
a  deep  blush  overspread  her  face  at  the  remembrance  of  some 
words  whispered  that  day  for  the  first  time,  by  Gerald  For- 
tescue.  The  glowing  clouds  on  which  she  gazed,  chasing  each 
other  over  the  landscape,  were  not  more  beautiful  than  the  rosy 
tints  which  illumined  her  lofty  countenance ;  but  with  this  dif- 
ference,— the  former  were  declining  glories,  the  latter  wore  the 
first  enchanting  tints  of  young  affection's  rising  morn.  As  she 
stood  musing  silently,  for  some  time,  she  did  not  observe  a  figure 
running  rapidly  down  the  avenue,  until  a  quick  familiar  foot- 
step announced  Gerald's  approach;  she  looked  around,  and 
encountered,  with  a  blushing  face,  the  gaze  of  Gerald  Fortescue. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  here,  Edith,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  I  go  to-morrow,  and  must  have  a  few  words  with  you  ere  we 
part.  I  used  to  think  of  you,  dear  Edith,  with  the  same  kind 
of  feelings  which  I  feel  for  sister  Josephine ;  but  that  clay  has 
passed.  I  do  not  ask  a  sister's  love,  I  ask  more.  Young  aa 
you  are,  Edith,  you  are  all  the  world  to  me ;  and  when  I  ask 
my  heart  if  I  can  be  satisfied  with  sisterly  affection,  it  answers, 


48  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

no.  May  I  hope  for  a  nearer  and  a  dearer  place  in  your  affec- 
tions?" 

"  Gerald,  I  am  scarcely  more  than  a  child ;  and  yet  I  know 
that  none  can  ever  occupy  the  place  in  my  heart  which  has 
always  been  yours,  and  which  no  time  can  ever  alter.  You  are 
much  more  likely  to  change  than  I." 

"  Here,  Edith,  under  this  old  elm  tree,  in  sight  of  this  glori- 
ous scene,  where  the  Creator  seems  smiling  upon  us,  let  us  pro- 
mise to  love  each  other  as  long  as  life  lasts;  you  shall  be  my 
dearest,  loveliest  Edith — my  strong,  yet  gentle  adviser  ;  and  I 
will  be  to  you  an  unchanging  and  devoted  friend." 

"  It  needs  no  promise,  Gerald,  on  my  part,"  replied  Edith  ; 
"for  every  walk  and  tree  around  Ravenswood  speaks  to  me  of 
Gerald.  But  you  must  acquaint  my  parents  with  this  conver- 
sation, for  we  ought  not  to  hold  intercourse  of  this  kind,  with- 
out their  knowledge." 

"  When  I  am  gone,  Edith,  will  you  visit  this  old  elm  tree, 
and  think  of  Gerald  ?" 

"I  can  certainly  promise  that,"  replied  Edith ;  "for  I  am  not 
one  that  can  forget  my  friends." 

They  returned  to  the  house  slowly  and  thoughtfully.  Their 
relations  were  changed  ;  and  Edith,  young  as  she  was,  felt  that 
henceforth  the  name  and  happiness  of  Gerald  Fortescue  were 
indissolubly  blended  with  her  own.  They  were  both  very 
thoughtful ;  and  Gerald  sought  an  opportunity  that  evening  of 
speaking  to  Mr.  Clifford.  He  was  not  surprised,  but,  although 
he  highly  esteemed  the  young  man,  and  approved  of  the  con- 
nection, he  would  not  consent  to  bind  either  by  any  engagement 
while  both  were  yet  so  young  ;  but  placing  no  barrier  in  the 
way  of  their  affection,  he  tacitly  sanctioned  the  present  state 
of  affairs. 

Mrs.  Clifford,  believing  that  a  pure  affection  is  a  source  of 
great  happiness,  and,  under  proper  restraints,  not  forbidden, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  pronounced  blessed  in  the  Bible,  was 
pleased  that  two  whom  she  loved  so  much,  should  so  tenderly 
love  each  other. 

Edith  retired  to  her  room  that  night,  feeling  that  she  was 


ROSY   DREAMS.  49 

a  different  creature ;  her  thoughts  were  of  Gerald  and  the 
future.  Henceforth,  with  a  nature  strong  as  Edith  Clifford's, 
there  could  be  no  change;  her  all  of  earthly  happiness  once 
embarked  in  one  human  heart,  solemn  should  be  the  guardian, 
ship  of  such  a  secret  trust.  She  meditated  long,  and  prayed 
fervently  for  God's  blessing  on  herself  and  Gerald,  and  closed 
her  eyes  dreaming  of  the  happy  future.  At  early  dawn  she 
arose  to  hail  the  rising  sun.  It  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
days  of  that  lovely  season.  As  she  sat  at  the  window,  looking 
on  the  beautiful  landscape,  the  pictures  of  the  lovely  spring 
morning  without  were  not  more  enchanting  than  those  within 
the  young  heart ;  and  the  smiles  which  lit  up  her  sweet  face 
spoke  of  love,  and  trust,  and  hope.  After  her  morning  devo- 
tions, she  descended  to  the  breakfast-room,  the  very  picture  of 
radiant  joy  and  youthful  happiness.  Soon  after  breakfast,  the 
young  men  come  over' to  bid  farewell  to  their  friends;  and  as 
Frank  was  to  accompany  them  to  college,  it  added  much  to 
the  sorrow  of  their  parting  hour.  Edith  and  Madge  were  es- 
pecially sad ;  for,  after  a  stay  much  prolonged  by  little  Lilly's 
illness,  they  felt  the  blank  which  the  absence  of  the  young 
men  would  bring  more  keenly.  Josephine  had  come  over  to 
Ravenswood  with  the  young  men  to  see  the  last  of  Gerald ;  for, 
masculine  as  she  desired  to  appear,  if  there  was  any  object  on 
earth  whom  she  nearly  idolized,  it  was  her  brother  Gerald. 

During  the  young  men's  stay  at  Oak  Hall,  Josephine  had 
been  deeply  engaged  in  a  new  study— and  that  was  the  inter- 
esting character  of  Ralph  Cameron.  She  had  seen  but  few  of 
the  other  sex ;  her  gentle,  poetic  brother,  Gerald,  and  the  spor- 
tive, impetuous  Frank,  had  been  the  only  ones  whom  she  had 
known  intimately;  but  here  was  a  youth  of  an  entirely  different 
stamp.  His  mind  was  of  the  highest  order,  and  his  education 
thorough.  Independent  in  all  his  actions,  he  seemed  born  to 
command.  Josephine,  for  once,  acknowledged  the  presence  of 
a  superior,  and  involuntarily  yielded  him  her  respect.  One 
thing,  however,  puzzled  her:  with  all  his  strength,  his  piety 
was  a  subject  of  the  greatest  wonder.  She  could  not  sec  how  it 
was  possible,  that  a  mind  like  his  should  bow  itself  down  at 
4 


50  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

the  shrine  of  what  she  deemed  superstition.  Fearless  in  the 
expression  of  her  ultra  sentiments,  in  the  presence  of  Ralph 
she  was  abashed,  and  several  times  detected  herself  in  endea- 
voring to  conceal  her  real  thoughts  from  him,  for  fear  of  los- 
ing his  good  opinion.  When  alone,  she  would  take  herself  to 
task  for  her  weakness,  and  resolve  that  she  would  not  be  so 
governed  by  so  young  a  man — but  it  was  all  in  vain  ;  a  glance 
of  his  bright  eye,  the  clear,  decided  tone  of  his  voice,  when 
expressing  with  manly  boldness  his  noble  sentiments,  were 
enough  to  dissipate  all  her  boasted  courage  and  independence. 

"  Could  it  be  possible,"  she  would  ask  herself,  "  that  she,  the 
proud,  boastful  Josephine  Fortescue,  was  really  afraid  of 
Ralph  Cameron  ?"  Then  again,  when  she  saw  his  kind  devo- 
tion to  little  Madge  Clifford,  an  unattractive  child,  she  would 
sometimes  detect  herself  in  wishing  the  child  far  away.  She 
saw  her  talents,  but  she  could  not  imagine  what  Ralph  saw  in 
her,  to  draw  his  attention  constantly  away  from  herself.  She 
had  never  seen  any  one  with  half  the  strength  of  Ralph's 
character,  and  yet  with  all  his  power,  his  goodness  led  him  to 
devote  himself  to  this  little  girl ;  certainly  with  no  other  desire 
than  to  do  her  good. 

Could  she  only  hope  to  be  the  friend  of  Ralph  Cameron,  she 
felt  as  if  he  would  improve  her  character,  and  yet  the  thought 
was  instantly  hushed.  These  reveries  had  frequently  disturbed 
her ;  what  could  it  mean  ?  And  now  in  the  day  of  parting, 
when  Ralph  was  to  leave  them,  "  why  should  she  feel  so  sad ':" 
His  whole  attention  was  given  to  Madge ;  and  while  she  felt 
that  she  would  have  sacrificed  much  to  gain  his  friendship,  she 
realized  that  a  homely,  perverse  little  girl  had  supplanted  her. 
As  thoughts  like  these  passed  through  her  mind,  she  was  stand- 
ing leaning  near  the  window.  Ralph  approached  her,  and  ex- 
tending his  hand  in  a  friendly  manner,  said,  "  Farewell,  Miss 
Fortescue.  You  will  remember  what  I  have  said  to  you  con- 
cerning the  things  of  another  world." 

With  more  humility  than  she  had  ever  felt  before,  she  re- 
plied, "  I  will  endeavor  to  do  so." 

She  turned  away  to  hide  her  emotion,  for  she  was  too  proud 


ROSY   DREAMS.  51 

to  show  to  others  that  deep  interest  which  she  painfully  realized  ^ 
she  felt  in  Ralph  Cameron.  Though  aiming  to  be  in  all  re- 
spects a  strong-minded  woman,  Josephine  Fortescue  had  dis- 
covered that  she  possessed  a  woman's  heart.  The  carriage 
was  standing  at  the  door  to  convey  them  away.  Gerald,  with 
a  tearful  countenance,  wrung  Edith's  hand  ;  Ralph  whispered 
Borne  kind  parting  words  to  Madge,  and  Frank,  whose  warm 
heart  was  really  full  of  grief,  to  hide  his  emotions,  was  giving 
his  parting  injunctions  with  an  air  of  lightness  which  he  did 
not  feel. 

"  Farewell,  Edith  !  Good-by,  Madge  !  You'll  be  glad  when 
I  am  gone.  Now  don't  say  that  you  are  sorry,  for  I  cannot 
believe  you.  You  must  all  write  me  family  letters." 

The  mother  drew  her  only  son  down  close  to  her,  and  while 

n-hispered  earnest,  parting  words,  he  could  no  longer  hide 

^s  which  burst 'from  his  eyes,  and  streamed  down  his 

^'•awing  his  cap  down  over  his  face,  he  hastily  en- 

•     -riage,  and  in  another  minute,  the  caps  waving 

•>  windows,  until  it  passed  out  of  the  avenue, 

orone.     Mrs.  Clifford  sent  for  Edith  to  come 

•  departure,  and  with  a  mother's  warm 

a.  n soiled  her  sweet  daughter  with  re- 

gara 

"I  \Vv     ''  :  ;uh,  against  building  too  much  upon 

earthly  hiti  Know  more  of  life  than  you  do.     Do 

not  allow  you  vvell  too  much  upon  thoughts  of  Gerald, 

or  to  expect  too  i  i.ch  from  man  ;  yours  is  a  strong,  deep  na- 
ture ;  he  is  different,  he  is  more  of  the  dreamy  and  imaginative, 
and  may  not  be  capable  of  the  strong  enduring  love  which  you 
can  bestow ;  love  God  supremely,  and  all  earthly  objects  in 
entire  subjection  to  His  will." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  mamma,  for  your  kind  advice.  I  am. 
not  a  love-sick  girl,  but  hope  that  I  shall  be  just  as  anxious  to 
perform  my  duties  and  improve  my  mind  as  ever,  for  now  I 
have  a  new  motive  in  my  desire  to  prepare  myself  for  future 
relations  in  life;  but,  mamma,  I  cannot  conceal  from  you  or 
myself,  that  should  I  be  disappointed  in  iny  estimate  of  Gerald 


52  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Fortescue,  for  this  life  I  should  be  shipwrecked  ;  for  should  I 
for  one  moment  see  that  his  affection  for  me  was  on  the  decline, 
I  would  instantly  restore  him  his  liberty,  though  my  own  peace 
should  be  the  sacrifice."  Mrs.  Cli fiord  looked  with  admiration, 
mingled  with  trembling,  on  the  proud  expression  of  Edith's 
countenance,  as  she  uttered  these  words,  and  they  sank  deep 
into  the  mother's  heart.  After  Gerald's  departure,  Edith  re- 
turned with  her  usual  interest  to  her  studies,  for  her  character 
was  too  well  disciplined  to  allow  her  to  waste  her  time  on  mere 
reveries. 

After  the  duties  of  the  day,  she  frequently  repaired  to  the 
trysting  tree,  where  she  had  promised  to  remember  Gerald  ; 
there  she  frequently  perused  his  letters,  which  came  regularly, 
filled  with  expressions  of  devotion,  and  often  asking  for  her 
advice  upon  subjects  of  interest. 

Poor  little  Madge  soon  sank  back  again  into  her  old  habits 
of  silence  and  gloom  ;  deprived  of  Ralph  Cameron,  she  repelled 
all  others,  and  simply  performed  her  duties,  and  attended,  to 
her  studies,  because  he  had  laid  down  a  plan  for  her,  which 
she  most  faithfully  adhered  to.  To  little  Lilly  alone,  she  was 
affectionate;  regarding  her  as  the  victim  of  her  unkindness, 
she  sought,  by  every  means,  to  render  her  life  less  lonely  and 
sorrowful.  Towards  Blanche  and  Adele  she  was  still  morose 
and  envious ;  they  tried  to  make  her  believe  that  they  could 
love  her,  but  all  in  vain. 

Madge  idolized  the  beautiful,  and  coveted  its  possession  for 
herself  with  such  intense  longing,  that  she  still  regarded  the 
exceeding  loveliness  of  Blanche  Clifford  with  bitter  envy  ;  and 
forgetting  that  she  might  be  just  as  much  beloved  for  moral 
beauty,  she  pined  after  the  unattainable,  and  neglected  that 
which  was  ever  within  her  reach. 

Adele's  sportive,  sparkling  nature  was  equally  an  object  of 
envy,  for  Madge  saw  that  everywhere  she  was  welcome,  and 
that  her  silvery  laugh  and  merry  jokes  were  the  life  of  every 
circle  where  she  moved. 

Miss  Arnold  was  sadly  tried  when  she  saw  a  return  of  the 
old  infirmities,  but  wisely  she  refrained  from  making  them  too 


ROSY    DREAMS.  53 

much  the  subject  of  remark  ;  she  instructed  faithfully,  prayed 
earnestly,  and  observed  that  whenever  Madge  received  a  letter 
from  Ralph,  for  days  its  effect  was  visible  in  the  efforts  which 
she  made  to  overcome  her  faults,  and  improve  her  character ; 
but  suddenly  some  temptation  would  arise,  and  Madge  would 
be  again  overcome,  and  for  weeks  the  fit  of  sullen  gloomy 
despair  would  follow. 

Edith's  fine  character  and  noble  intellect  daily  strengthened ; 

but   still    there  was   the  one  root  of  bitterness  which   often 

strained  her  best  performances ;  there  was  yet  lacking  the  one 

thing  needful — that  "  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit," 

without  which  all  else  is  comparatively  valueless.     She  was 

(  ui^cientious,  truthful,  high-minded  ;    but  the  heart  was  not 

wholly   given   to   the   Lord  Jesus,  to  be  his  alone,  and 

^d  after  his  holy  image. 

13  gave  promise  of  much  sweetness  and  innocence  of 

nit  her  principles  were  feeble.     She  was  easily  in- 

others.     The  present  society  was  the  mould  of  her 

'  •     watchful  friends  feared  that  this  vacillating, 

•ht  prove  a  serious  hindrance  to  all  moral 

'Ued  Edith,  and  looked  up  to  her  with 

as  she  felt  for  her  mother.     So  great 

""•  -vbody,  that  her  efforts  frequently 

brout  •  of  falsehood ;  and  her  watchful 

governt.  ^r,  and  endeavored  to  guard 

this  weak  t  charao  '  -inche  feared  Miss  Arnold, 

because  she  ,    ttnatffr  .ood  her  character.     Not 

so  with  Adele;     rack  .untness,  her  perfect  trans- 

parency was  her  c.  at  her  giddiness  often  brought 

her  into  difficulty.  (So  N»  -.  as  her  mirthfulness,  and  so  keen 
her  sense  of  the  ludicx  ,  that  Miss  Arnold  feared  that  she 
would  make  many  enemies  in  her  path  through  life,  and  en- 
deavored to  restrain  and  guide  her  merry,  thoughtless  little 
pupil.  There  was  one  redeeming  quality,  and  that  was  her 
warm,  affectionate  heart;  through  that  channel,  which  was 
ever  open  to  those  she  loved,  there  was  always  free  access  to 
the  conscience  of  Adele  Clifford. 


CHAPTER    VI 


CITY    COUSINS. 


N  consequence  of  living  in,  the  country,  the 
children  had  not  many  associates,  nor  did  they 
the  need  of  society,  for  their  own  family  circle 
vas  a  happy  one,  and  the  means  provided  for  their 
recreation,  as  well  as  their  instruction,  was  abundant. 
There  were  a  few  neighboring  families  only,  whose 
acquaintance  Mrs.  Clifford  cultivated.  She  had  one 
sister  in  New  York,  Mrs.  Morris,  who  had  two 
daughters, — the  elder,  Sophy;  the  younger,  Eleanor.  The 
mother  was  a  lady  of  high  fashion,  entirely  devoted  to  the 
vanities  of  the  world.  Her  children,  of  course,  were  educated 
in  an  artificial  manner,  and  were  taught  that  fashionable  edu- 
cation, fashionable  society,  and  fashionable  dress,  were  the  only 
things  worth  attending  to.  She  did  not  often  visit  Mrs. 
Clifford,  for  they  had  no  sympathies  in  common ;  but  as  she 
had  heard  sad  accounts  of  her  sister's  declining  health,  she 
wrote  that  she  and  her  daughters  would  pay  a  visit  to  Ravens- 
wood. 

Mrs.  Clifford  answered  the  letters,  stating  that  she  would  be 
glad  to  see  her,  and  that  the  carriage  would  be  in  readiness  to 
meet  them  at  the  landing,  at  the  time  appointed ;  but  she 
dreaded  the  power  of  their  example  upon  Blanche  and  Adele. 
Edith  she  believed  far  above  their  influence. 

On  the  following  evening,  as  the  guests  were  expected,  the 
54 


CITY   COUSINS.  55 

children  were  all  arrayed  in  simple  dresses,  with  neat  silk 
aprons,  to  meet  their  fashionable  cousins, — one  fourteen;  the 
other  twelve  years  old.  When  the  carriage  drove  up,  Mrs. 
Morris,  dressed  in  the  very  highest  fashion,  descended  with 
some  difficulty,  for  her  enormous  hoops  and  heavy  flounces 
filled  up  the  seat  of  the  carriage.  The  two  children  were 
equally  loaded  with  dress ;  and  when  they  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  with  their  mincing  step,  hands  crossed  in  front,  and 
heads  thrown  back,  Adele  could  scarcely  restrain  her  disposi- 
tion to  laugh,  they  reminded  her  so  much  of  caricatures 
which  she  had  seen  in  the  print-windows  of  New  York. 
Blanche  was  rather  more  impressed  by  their  self-important 
manners.  Edith  was  too  polite  ever  to  forget  the  courtesy  of  a 
lady ;  and  Madge  was  too  demonstrative  to  affect  anything 
more  than  she  really  felt.  Mrs.  Clifford  received  her  sister 
>ctionately,  and  they  were  all  shown  up  to  their  rooms  to 
re  for  tea. 

1  they  had  left  the  room,  Adele  sprang  from  her  seat, 
Panels,  threw  back  her  head,  and  commenced  mimick- 
Blanche  could  not  help  laughing, 
see  such  frights  ?"  said  Adele. 

>r  dresses  are  elegant,"  replied  Blanche; 
I  post  a  great  deal  of  money ;  and  their 
i. 

they  could  run  to  save  their  lives.     I 

should  i  fence,  with  their  high-heeled 

boots,  the  oops,"  said  Adele.     "I  am 

going  to  hav  -\\,  in^id  I  tell  you." 

"Take  care,  .  ;  "mamma  will  be  dis- 

pleased if  you  ma  ,-ins." 

"Oh,  I  won't  do  ,ust   a   little  fun,"  answered 

Adele.  ,v. 

Madge,  who  overheard  fue  talk,  said,  "I  do  not  think  that 
they  are  worth  anybody's  notice;  they  are  a  pair  of  affected 
simpletons,  and  I  am  not  going  to  put  myself  out  for  them." 

When  the  tea-bell  rang,  the  guests  swept  into  the  room  in 
full  dress,  and  the  young  ladies  now  appeared  in  thin  muslin, 


56  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

with  low  neck  and  short  sleeves,  and  a  profusion  of  elegant 
jewelry. 

By  the  side  of  Mrs.  Clifford's  group  of  natural  children,  so 
simply  educated,  and  arrayed  in  such  a  plain  and  childish 
nuinner,  they  presented  a  strong* contrast,  and  evidently  looked 
down  upon  their  country  cousins  with  much  contempt.  The 
children  brought  out  a  variety  of  games,  and  endeavored  to 
amuse  them ;  but  they  seemed  to  have  no  taste  for  any  such. 
In  historical  games  they  betrayed  profound  ignorance,  and 
others  were  too  childish.  When  asked  to  favor  her  cousins 
with  some  music,  Miss  Sophy,  with  an  affected  manner,  pro- 
ceeded to  the  piano,  and  moving  the  stool  far  away,  seated 
herself  at  a  distance,  stooping  over  from  her  waist,  in  a  most 
ridiculous  position,  while,  raising  her  hands  with  a  sudden 
jump  to  a  great  height,  and  then,  running  her  fingers  over  the 
keys  in  a  dashing,  furious  manner,  she  thought  that  she  was 
making  a  great  impression;  but  when  she  commenced  singing 
from  an  Italian  opera,  throwing  up  her  eyes,  shrugging  her 
shoulders,  and  lisping  out  in  one  minute  soft,  languishing  tones, 
and  then  screaming  at  the  top  of  her  voice  most  unmusical 
notes,  and  finally  dying  away  in  long  untimed  trills  and  shakes, 
Adelc  could  scarcely  restrain  loud  laughter;  if  her  sisters 
glanced  towards  her  for  an  instant,  her  languishing  looks,  and 
absurd  faces,  the  quick  imitation  of  Sophy'-;  attitude,  when 
none  observed  her  but  her  sisters,  were  irresistibly  comic,  and 
every  moment  they  feared  a  loud  explosion.  Madge  looked 
on  contemptuously.  Blanche  was  somewhat  overawed,  as  she 
supposed  that  this  was  singing  of  the  highest  order.  After 
this  grand  performance,  there  was  another  pause,  and  the  chil- 
dren could  not  imagine  what  to  do  next.  The  young  ladies 
began  to  yawn,  as  if  tired  of  their  companions. 

"How  do  you  amuse  yourselves  in  New  York?"  asked 
Blanche. 

"  When  we  have  company,  we  always  invite  some  boys,  and 
then  we  dance  all  the  evening.  I  cannot  imagine  how  you 
amuse  yourselves  without  dancing." 

"  Don't  you  ever  waltz  with  little  girls  ?"  said  Adele. 


CITY    COUSINS.  57 

"Yes;  but  we  don't  care  for  such  dancing,  there  is  no  fun 
in  that." 

"  If  you  will  play  for  us,  we  will  show  you  how  we  waltz," 
said  Sophy. 

Blanche  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and  while  she  played  the 
girls  fluttered  and  swam  about  the  room  in  the  latest  approved 
style,  thinking  that  they  were  astonishing  their  country  cousins. 
Adele  was  almost  convulsed  with  laughter,  and  longed  to  show 
off  the  performance  of  the  evening. 

After  they  retired,  Adele  threw  up  her  hands,  and,  laughing 
immoderately,  said  : 

"  And  these  are  the  fine  ladies  of  New  York !  I  hope  I'll 
never  be  a  lady." 

Next  morning,  in  compliment  to  their  guests,  Miss  Arnold 

^rave  a  holiday;  and  soon  after  breakfast,   the  girls  invited 

ir  guests  to  take  a  walk.     Attired  in    elegant,  expensive 

with  delicate,  high-heeled   boots,  and    fancy  bonnets, 

-  girls  met  their  cousins,  arrayed  in  suitable  style  for 

lhe  country.     Adele,  in  high  glee,  led  them  first 

•mien,  and  then  across  the  fields  to  a  neighbor- 

•\  they  reached  the  field,  there  were  a  number 

nd  the  city  belles  were   dreadfully  fright- 

c  'he  animals  look  towards  them.     Sophy 

slux  ^m,  and  ran  as  fast  as  her  long  dress 

woulu  Ticn  she   perceived   that  a  cow  was 

pursuing  vith  terror,  and  ran  towards  the 

fence. 

"  How  sha. 

"  I'll  show  yo  ith  one  foot  on  the  rails,  in 

her  short  dress,  ,  .  a  over  on  the  other  side, 

where  she  stood  lauj,  ,  s  embarrassment. 

"  I  never  climbed  a  .  my  life,  and  I  shall  ruin  my 

dress  if  I  attempt  it,"  s;.  ,-ophy. 

"  You  had  better  try,  Sophy,  the  cow  is  coming  fast,"  an- 
swered thoughtless  Adele. 

After  many  awkward  efforts,  she  succeeded  in  rolling  over 
the  fence;  but  her  flounces  were  ripped  off,  and  her  delicate 


58  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

boot  was  torn.  Adele  could  not  keep  from  laughing,  as  she 
saw  the  harmless  old  cow  standing  at  the  fence,  looking  on 
demurely  at  the  mischief  she  had  done. 

"  Do  let  us  go  home,"  said  Sophy,  "  I  am  sick  of  walking  in 
the  country." 

Adele,  thinking  that  she  had  enjoyed  enough  fun  for  one 
day,  consented. 

Miss  Arnold  reproved  her  for  leading  the  young  ladies 
through  the  fields,  for  she  strongly  suspected  that  it  was  done 
purposely  for  sport.  It  wag  certainly  very  rude  treatment  of  a 
guest,  but  Adele  thoughtlessly  followed  her  inclinations.  The 
girls  seemed  offended,  for  they  began  to  suspect  Adele's  agency. 
When  they  returned,  they  retired  to  their  own  room,  to  repair 
the  mischief  which  had  been  done,  and  Blanche  and  Adele  ran 
up  to  the  school-room. 

"  Come,  Blanche,  play  me  a  waltz,  I  want  to  practice,"  said 
Adele,  and  seizing  little  Lilly  by  the  waist,  she  flew  off  into  a 
must  ludicrous  caricature  of  the  waltz  of  the  evening  before. 
With  her  head  thrown  on  one  side,  her  eyes  bent  affectedly 
down  on  the  floor,  and  her  languishing  attitudes,  it  was  a 
perfect  imitation  of  what  she  had  witnessed,  only  somewhat 
exaggerated.  Then  she  flew  to  the  piano,  and  dragging  out 
the  stool,  seated  herself  in  imitation  of  Miss  Sophy;  and 
then  throwing  up  her  eyes,  and  imitating  the  fingering,  or 
rather  the  hammering,  she  commenced  an  Italian  opera, 
with  sounds  resembling  words,  lisping,  screaming,  and  quiver- 
ing in  a  perfect  agony.  Blanche  could  not  restrain  her 
laughter ;  even  Madge  was  led  to  join  the  sport ;  and  Miss 
Arnold,  who  had  witnessed  all  the  performance,  could  scarcely 
command  herself  enough  to  reprove  the  child  for  her  want  of 
hospitality. 

"  Adele,  have  you  not  forgotten  that  Sophy  is  your  guest  ?" 
said  Miss  Arnold. 

"  No,  I  have  not ;  she  does  not  see  me,  and  it  can  do  her  no 
harm,"  answered  Adele,  in  self-defence. 

"  It  is  wrong,  Adele,  because  it  is  a  violation  of  that  golden 
rule,  which  should  regulate  all  our  actions;  it  is  not  doing  as 


CITY   COUSINS.  59 

you  would  be  done  by;  and  then,  Adele,  her  folly  is  not  all 
her  fault :  her  mother  is  chiefly  to  blame,  and  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  if  she  had  proper  influence  exerted  over  her,  she 
might  make  a  fine  woman." 

"  I  cannot  help  laughing,  Miss  Arnold,  it  looks  so  funny  to 
see  such  a  young  girl  trying  to  act  like  a  woman." 

Blanche  was  much  more  impressed  by  a  sense  of  their  conse- 
quence, and  when  alone  with  the  girls,  expressed  her  sorrow  at 
her  unfashionable  education. 

"  Mamma,  has  such  strange  notions,  she  seems  to  forget  who 
we  are,  and  is  just  bringing  us  up  as  plainly  as  farmers' 
daughters." 

Blanche  blushed  as  she  said  this,  for  she  knew  that  all  the 
accomplishments  and  refinements  of  life  were  allowed,  provided 
they  did  not  interfere  with  Mrs.  Clifford's  ideas  of  consistency. 
Blanche  was  very  fond  of  dress,  and  often  felt  discontented 
with  her  simple  attire,  especially  since  she  had  seen  her  aunt's 
mode  of  dressing  her  children.  Sophy  and  Eleanor  took  great 
pleasure  in  showing  her  all  their  finery  and  jewelry,  and  told 
Blanche  that  they  hoped  their  Aunt  Clifford  would  let  them 
come  and  pay  them  a  visit ;  she  should  then  see  New  York  life. 

Mrs.  Morris  frequently  expostulated  with  Mrs.  Clifford  about 
her  modes  of  education. 

"What  do  you  intend  your  children  for,  Mary?  Do  you 
forget  that  they  are  Ravenswoods  ?"  said  Mrs.  Morris. 

"  I  do  not,  my  sister ;  nor  do  I  forget  that  they  are  God's 
children  in  one  sense,  given  up  to  his  service  in  Christian 
baptism  ;  and  endeavoring  by  God's  help  to  keep  my  vow,  I  am 
training  them  for  usefulness  here,  and  for  heaven  hereafter." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  them  when  it  is  time  to  bring  them 
out?"  asked  Mrs.  Morris.  . 

"  Bring  them  out,  where  ?  Into  the  gay  world  ?  If  that  is 
what  you  mean,  Ellen,  I  shall  never  bring  them  out ;  it  is  my 
constant  care  to  keep  them  aloof  from  the  enchantments  of  a 
worldly  life,"  was  Mrs.  Clifford's  consistent  answer. 

"  Whom  do  you  suppose  that  they  will  marry  ?"  asked  her 
sister. 


60  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  That  will  be  answered  by  a  wise  Providence,  Ellen.  I  will 
endeavor  to  do  my  duty,  and  bring  them  up  for  that  station  of 
life  in  which  God  has  placed  them;  if  he  designs  them  for 
heads  of  families,  he  will  provide  companions  ;  and  if  not,  they 
can  be  useful  and  happy  too,  without  an  establishment,  for  that 
seems  to  be  the  great  idea  now  among  fashionables  of  the 
sacred  institution  of  marriage." 

After  an  intermission  of  a  day  or  two  from  their  studies, 
Miss  Arnold  assembled  her  young  charge  again  in  their 
school-room,  and  inviting  Sophy  and  Eleanor  to  join  them, 
she  saw  by  their  lively  interest  in  the  instructions  which 
she  gave  that  they  were  two  fine  girls,  spoiled  by  a  false  edu- 
cation. 

"  Mamma,  I  am  really  ashamed  of  my  ignorance,"  said  Sophy, 
to  her  mother;  "there  are  Madge  and  Blanche,  and  even  Adele, 
•who  have  more  knowledge  of  the  world  around  them,  than  all 
that  I  have  ever  heard  in  my  whole  life ;  they  talked  to  Miss 
Arnold  to-day  about  the  old  kings  and  their  courts,  as  if  they 
had  really  visited  their  ancient  kingdoms.  She  was  reviewing 
their  lessons  to-day,  and  their  knowledge  of  their  own  country 
is  enough  to  shame  half  of  the  girls  in  Mad.  La  Gree's  academy ; 
they  write  beautiful  letters,  speak  French,  and  draw  exquis- 
itely, and  I  shall  never  have  such  a  high  opinion  again  of  a 
French  boarding-school,  since  I  have  seen  Miss  Arnold's  school- 
room." 

Mrs.  Morris  was  struck  by  Sophy's  remarks,  but  still  she 
mentally  resolved  that  her  children  should  be  educated  in  a 
manner  worthy  of  the  old  Ravenswoods,  and  though  she  saw 
that  in  all  that  was  solid  and  excellent  her  sister's  modes  were 
fur  superior,  yet  she  was  willing  to  sacrifice  all  to  the  shrine  of 
fashionable  worldliness. 

After  spending  a  few  weeks  with  Mrs.  Clifford,  Mrs.  Morris 
prepared  to  return  to  New  York,  in  order  to  make  ready  for  a 
jaunt  to  Saratoga,  where  she  usually  spent  part  of  her  summer. 
The  girls  had  become  attached  to  their  cousins,  and  were  really 
sorry  to  leave  the  pleasant  home  of  Ravenswood,  for  the  busy, 
bustling  life  of  New  York,  even  in  the  Fifth  Avenue.  Blanche 


CITY   COUSINS.  61 

and  Addle  had  rattled  on  about  Frank,  and  Gerald,  and  Ralph, 
until  the  girls  were  curious  to  see  those  wonderful  young  men, 
and  were  sorry  that  they  had  not  delayed  their  visit  until 
vacation. 

The  sisters  parted  sadly,  Mrs.  Clifford  mourning  over  the 
worldliness  of  her  sister,  and  Mrs.  Morris  impressed  with  a 
conviction  that  her  sister  Mary  was  hastening  rapidly  to  that 
"  bourne  from  whence  no  traveller  returns." 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE     TWO     PASTORS. 

i^  EVERAL  miles  from  Ravenswood  lay  the  plea- 

*k      sant  village  of  N ,  where  several  churches 

of  different  denominations  were  located,  and 
where  persons  living  in  the  country  generally 
attended.  Mrs.  Clifford  was  an  Episcopalian,  and 
from  her  youth  had  been  a  communicant  in  that 
church  ;  her  family,  consequently,  had  been  reared 
in  their  mother's  faith. 
In  its  early  history,  the  rectors  of  St.  John's  had  been  good, 
useful  men,  who  loved  their  own  church,  valued  its  services, 
but  who  preached  Jesus  Christ  and  him  crucified,  as  the  sinner's 
only  hope.  But  after  the  publication  of  the  "Tracts  for  the 
Times,"  in  America,  novelties  appeared  in  many  of  the  churches 
in  the  State  of  New  York;  and  the  rector  of  St.  John's,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Singleton,  became  deeply  affected  with  the  new 
doctrines,  claiming  for  them  great  antiquity.  He  was  a  dan- 
gerous teacher  of  error,  for  he  was  a  man  of  talent  and  elo- 
quence, with  popular  manners,  and  very  devoted  and  exemplary 
in  his  daily  life.  He  had  always  been  upon  terms  of  close  in- 
timacy with  the  Clifford  family,  and  esteemed  the  mother  of 
the  household,  as  one  of  the  most  lovely  and  pious  members  of 
St.  John's. 

Gradually   the   change   in   his   sentiments   appeared.     His 
preaching,  formerly  of  a  plain,  practical  character,  though 
62 


THE  TWO   PASTORS.  63 

never  very  decided  in  its  tone,  now  taught  a  mystical  theology: 
baptismal  regeneration;  sacramental  union  with  Christ;  a  rigid 
adherence  to  forms  and  ceremonies  ;  the  keeping  of  saints' 
days  ;  quoting  more  from  the  fathers  than  from  the  word  of 
God :  all  these  were  sadly  significant  of  what  must  follow. 
The  study  of  ancient  ecclesiology;  the  fashion  of  ancient  vest- 
ment, and  long-exploded  practices ;  the  burning  of  candles  ; 
the  decorations  of  flowers,  and  the  introduction  of  ancient 
symbols  among  the  ornaments  of  the  church,  were  allowed  to 
occupy  too  much  of  the  time  and  attention  of  one  in  charge  of 
immortal  souls. 

With  a  heart  beguiled  from  the  simplicity  that  there  is  in 
the  gospel,  he  began  to  urge  the  vestry  to  remodel  the  church; 
greatly  to  enlarge  the'  chancel ;  to  build  an  altar  after  the 
ancient  model ;  talked  of  chanting  the  service ;  performed  sin- 
gular genuflections  during  public  worship,  much  of  which  he 
conducted  with  his  back  to  the  people ;  and  on  communion 
days  elevated  the  paten  containing  the  bread,  then  bowing 
lowly  before  it,  placed  it  on  what  he  now  called  the  altar,  but 
which  our  fathers,  for  hundreds  of  years,  had  known  always 
as  the  simple  communion  table. 

As  introductory  to  the  new  order  of  things,  he  preached 
much  about  the  ancient  usages  of  the  Church  ;  undertook  to 
explain  the  spiritual  meaning  of  all  the  trifles  which  he  wished 
to  introduce  into  the  solemn  worship  of  Almighty  God.  This 
pained  the  pious  heart  of  Mrs.  Clifford :  for  since  she  had 
known  the  preciousness  that  she  had  found  in  her  Redeemer, 
she  could  never  be  satisfied  with  husks  of  man's  devising ;  she 
thirsted  for  the  bread  of  life,  and  sometimes  wondered  where 
she  could  find  the  green  pastures  and  the  still  waters  of  salva- 
tion. Many  like  herself  were  sadly  disquieted,  and  were  earn- 
estly praying  for  direction,  in  this  state  of  affairs. 

About  this  time,  a  notice  was  given  of  an  approaching  con- 
firmation, and  Mr.  Singleton  urged  attendance,  upon  the  rite  of 
all  who  had  reached  the  age  of  fourteen,  without  any  explana- 
tion of  spiritual  qualifications:  and  seemed  to  regard  the 
service  as  binding  upon  all  who  had  literally,  not  spiritually, 


64  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

complied  with  the  conditions  of  the  Prayer  Book ;  urging  its 
participation  upon  all  who  could  say  the  Creed,  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  and  the  Ten  Commandments,  without  laying  any 
stress  upon  that  passage,  which  adds  most  significantly,  "and 
are  sufficiently  instructed  in  the  others  parts  of  the  Church 
Catechism,  set  forth  for  that  purpose." 

Miss  Barton,  a  young  lady  entirely  under  the  influence  of 
Mr.  Singleton,  was  the  Sunday-school  teacher  of  Edith  Clifford, 
who  was  at  that  time  about  fourteen.  Believing  that  through 
the  channels  of  the  Church  only  and  infallibly,  salvation  could 
visit  the  heart,  she  urged  upon  the  members  of  her  class,  and 
Edith  among  the  rest,  to  come  forward  to  the  solemn  rite. 
The  young  girl  had  many  serious  thoughts ;  she  wished  to  be 
a  true  child  of  God,  but  although  not  spiritually  renewed,  she 
had  enough  light  to  fear  that  she  was  not  a  proper  subject  for 
the  rite:  but  when  urged  by  Miss  Barton,  and  also  by  Mr. 
Singleton,  she  thought  that  she  must  conform  to  the  regula- 
tions of  the  Church,  and  at  last  visited  Mr.  Singleton,  with 
reference  to  the  matter. 

She  went  to  his  study,  with  many  misgivings,  expecting  to  be 
questioned  very  closely  as  to  the  state  of  her  heart  before  God; 
but  when  he  simply  asked  her  if  she  knew  the  Creed,  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  and  the  Ten  Commandments,  she  came  away  infi" 
nitely  more  sad  than  when  she  first  went,  wondering  whether 
something  more  was  not  implied  in  the  ratification  of  the  bap- 
tismal vow ;  but  urged  by  her  pastor  and  her  Sunday-school 
teacher,  she  gave  in  her  name  as  a  candidate.  Her  mother 
and  Miss  Arnold,  looking  upon  Edith  as  exceedingly  con- 
scientious, thought  that  she  would  not  take  upon  herself 
solemn  vows  without  striving  to  keep  them,  and  therefore 
offered  no  opposition.  Edith's  perplexity  increased  ;  the  more 
that  she  studied  the  engagements  assumed,  the  «ore  she  feared 
her  unfitness;  she  prayed  for  guidance,  but  she  was  still  com- 
paratively unenlightened.  The  time  rolled  around,  until  at 
last  the  eventful  day  arrived.  Early  in  the  morning  she  arose, 
and  taking  her  Prayer  Book,  read  the  vows  once  more.  They 
pressed  upon  her  conscience  with  the  weight  of  a  mountain. 


THE   TWO   PASTORS.  65 

She  felt,  as  she  examined  them,  that  none  but  a  true  Christian 
could  keep  such  solemn  vows. 

Was  she,  then,  a  real  heart-changed  Christian  ?  Had  she 
truly  repented  of  all  her  heart-sins,  as  well  as  those  of  her  life? 
Was  she  really  trusting  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ?  Had  she 
renounced  the  vain  pomps  and  vanities  of  this  wicked  world  ? 
Her  heart  trembled  as  she  pondered  over  these  solemn  questions  j 
she  feared  to  take  these  vows  upon  her  soul.  Her  agitation 
was  so  great,  that,  sick  and  faint,  she  was  unable  to  dress,  and 
went  back  to  her  bed.  Several  times  she  arose,  and  was  wholly 
unable  to  prepare  in  time  for  church.  When  the  period  had 
passed,  she  recovered  her  usual  feelings,  and  ever  after  was 
thankful  to  her  Heavenly  Father  for  what  she  always  regarded 
as  his  interference,  in  preventing  her  from  assuming  a  false  vow. 

A  large  number  was  confirmed  on  that  day,  but  Edith  Clif- 
ford was  not  among  them ;  many,  urged  by  injudicious  friends, 
had  taken  vows  which  they  never  meant  to  keep.  The  Church 
was  mutiplied,  but  not  edified,  by  such  additions.  When  Mr. 
Singleton  called  upon  Mrs.  Clifford,  she  expressed  her  views 
candidly  and  affectionately,  and  was  extremely  grieved  at  his 
open  expressions  of  what  she  esteemed  as  fundamental  error. 
He  called  her  views,  when  applied  to  doctrine,  Methodistical ; 
and  to  practice,  Puritanical.  She  was  deeply  pained  that  the 
Church  which  she  loved  so  intensely,  should  have  such  an  ex- 
positor of  its  blessed  doctrines  and  services;  and  sometimes 
wondered  how  the  martyrs  of  ancient  days  would  esteem  these 
modern  sons. 

The  ministrations  in  the  sanctuary  became  at  last  so  offen- 
sive, that  a  number  considered  that  it  would  be  an  improper 
exercise  of  charity  to  continue  any  longer  in  such  a  barren 
vineyard;  they  remembered  that  while  the  charity  of  the  Gos- 
pel is  long-suffering  and  kind,  at  the  same  time  it  "  rejoiceth 
not  in  iniquity,  but  rejoiceth  in  the  truth." 

Deliberately,  prayerfully,  and  in  the  fear  of  God,  they  with- 
drew from  old  St.  John's,  the  chui'ch  which  they  had  loved  so 
long,  and  formed  a  new  organization  of  their  own,  calling  it, 
St.  Paul's. 
5 


66  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

About  thirty  families  joined  the  new  congregation,  and 
called  a  pastor,  whom  several  had  heard  preach  frequently  in 
New  York,  and  in  their  own  village, — the  Rev.  Mr.  Berkely. 
He  was  person  eminently  qualified  for  the  station  which  he 
filled,  for  while  he  was  an  uncompromising  preacher  of  the 
simple  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus,  his  character  was  so  lovely  and 
Christ-like,  that  he  was  the  very  one  fitted  to  bear  the  storms 
of  opposition. 

Having  no  church  to  worship  in  when  he  first  came  among 
them,  they  met  in  a  public  ball ;  and  though  not  surrounded 
by  the  impressiveness  of  a  sanctuary  dedicated  to  the  worship 
of  God,  and  used  for  that  alone,  when  he  first  appeared  .in  the 
desk,  there  was  such  an  air  of  deep  solemnity  about  the  pale, 
intellectual-looking  man,  who  stood  before  them  as  their 
pastor,  that  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him,  and  all  hearts  im- 
pressed by  his  appearance  alone.  But  when  he  raised  his 
clear  voice,  and  said,  in  thrilling  tones,  "  The  Lord  is  in  his 
holy  temple,  let  all  the  earth  keep  silence  before  him,"  there 
was  a  solemn  stillness  in  that  audience,  that  might  better  be 
felt  than  described. 

He  was  a  man  of  about  forty,  with  a  pale,  gray  eye,  high, 
broad  forehead,  and  large  mouth,  about  which,  at  times,  there 
played  an  expression  of  peculiar  sweetness ;  his  thin,  gray  hair 
lay  in  long  locks  about  his  head  ;  his  figure  was  slight  in  the 
extreme,  and  his  step,  as  he  quietly  moved  about,  indicated 
delicate  health.  When  he  addressed  his  new  charge,  laying 
aside  all  the  ceremony  of  recent  acquaintance,  he  appealed  to 
them,  as  members  of  the  Redeemer's  flock,  whom  he  loved  for 
Jesus'  sake,  and  when  he  announced  the  principles  by  which 
he  hoped  to  be  governed,  he  begged  their  co-operation  and  their 
prayers.  Making  no  allusion  whatever  to  the  church  which 
they  had  left,  in  his  prayer  he  remembered  all  who  named  the 
name  of  Christ,  and  prayed  that  all  might  be  guided  into 
truth. 

Having  suffered  the  evils  of  spiritual  starvation  so  long,  the 
people  were  so  thankful  for  the  indications  of  God's  favor,  that 
they  took  hold  of  the  new  enterprise  with  great  energy  and 


THE   TWO   PASTORS.  67 

simplicity  of  heart,  and  in  a  few  months  had  the  pleasure  of 
taking  possession  of  a  new  and  beautiful  church,  where  every 
accommodation  was  provided  for  a  useful  evangelical  congre- 
gation. 

Mr.  Berkely  proved  to  be  a  pastor  after  the  model  of  the 
New  Testament,  not  only  in  the  pulpit,  but  from  house  to 
house,  and  everywhere  "  teaching  the  things  concerning  the 
kingdom  of  God ;"  his  labors  were  greatly  blessed,  and  quickly 
he  gathered  around  him  an  interesting  flock,  devoted  to  good 
works,  and  daily  adorning  the  doctrine  of  God  their  Saviour. 

While  he  loved  his  own  Church,  he  loved  Christ,  which  it 
set  forth,  still  better ;  while  he  revered  its  forms,  he  could 
worship  his  Creator  at  suitable  times,  without  them ;  while  he 
loved  especially  the  brethren  of  his  own  household,  his  large, 
warm  heart  throbbed  strongly  towards  all  others  who  bore  the 
image  of  his  Redeemer.  Justification  by  faith  in  a  crucified 
Saviour,  sanctification  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  need  of  a  holy 
life,  the  use  of  means  of  grace  for  the  renewed  soul,  and  sub- 
jects of  practical  piety,  formed  the  burden  of  his  preaching. 
He  soon  became  warmly  attached  to  the  Clifford  family,  and 
none  were  more  welcome  at  the  hospitable  mansion  than  the 
good  Mr.  Berkely. 

When  he  first  took  charge  of  the  parish,  and  heard  the 
story  of  Edith's  delayed  confirmation,  he  was  greatly  inter- 
ested, and  his  warmest  Christian  sympathies  enlisted  in  her 
behalf,  for  he  saw  in  her  conscientiousness  indications  of  the 
teachings  of  the  blessed  Spirit,  which  he  doubted  not  would 
bring  forth  fruit  unto  everlasting  life.  What  he  aimed  at  was 
not  simply  to  bring  his  young  people  forward  to  confirmation, 
but  to  prepare  them  for  that  solemn  rite,  by  endeavoring  to 
lead  them  to  Jesus  as  their  Saviour  first,  and  then  to  the 
Church  as  their  sheltering  home  afterwards.  He  loved  the 
lambs  of  his  flock,  and  when  the  young  Cliffords  saw  his  little 
carriage  driving  up  the  avenue  at  Ravenswood,  many  a  time  a 
joyous  group  might  be  seen  running  down  the  path  to  meet 
the  good  pastor,  calling  out,  "  Mamma,  mamma,  here  comes 
dear  Mr.  Berkely." 


68  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

No  sooner  would  he  drive  up,  than  all  clustered  around  him 
to  receive  his  kind  salutations  and  his  pleasant  smiles.  One 
would  seize  his  hat,  another  his  whip,  a  third  a  bundle  of  books, 
perhaps ;  and  little  blind  Lilly  always  contrived  to  get  pos- 
session of  the  pastor's  hand,  who  would  gently  lead  her  into 
the  house.  Seated  in  the  library,  on  the  good  man's  knee, 
while  he  patted  her  affectionately  on  the  cheek,  Lilly  was  a 
happy  little  girl;  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  he  would 
draw  out  some  nice  fruit,  or  a  bon-bon  for  the  blind  child ; 
and  a  few  tracts  or  children's  papers  would  make  the  rest 
equally  happy.  Even  Madge  loved  good  Mr.  Berkely,  for 
nothing  but  kind  words  ever  passed  his  lips  when  speaking  to 
her. 

Since  the  congregation  had  separated  from  Mr.  Singleton,  it 
had  been  more  than  two  years,  and  brings  us  now  to  the  period 
when  Edith  is  more  than  seventeen.  During  these  two  years, 
Mr.  Berkely  had  faithfully  instructed  and  prayed  for  Edith  ; 
he  had  watched  with  great  interest  the  development  of  her 
character,  and  hoped  that  divine  grace  was  operating  on  her 
young  heart.  He  saw  her  failing,  which  was  excessive  pride, 
not  of  rank,  or  station,  or  beauty,  or  talent, — for  she  possessed 
them  all — but  pride  of  character;  this,  he  well  knew,  must  be 
brought  into  subjection,  ere  she  could  really  become  a  true 
disciple  of  the  meek  and  lowly  Saviour.  He  watched  over  her 
with  a  father's  tender  care,  instructed,  guided,  prayed  for  her 
and  with  her,  and  was  daily  cheered  by  the  evidences  which 
she  gave  of  tenderness  of  conscience,  increasing  humility,  peni- 
tence for  sin,  and  simple  faith  in  Jesus. 

One  Sunday  morning  a  notice  was  given  that  in  six  weeks 
the  Bishop  of  the  Diocese  would  hold  a  confirmation  in  the 
Parish  of  St.  Paul's.  All  who  had  any  interest  in  the  subject 
of  personal  religion  were  invited  to  meet  their  pastor  for  pri- 
vate counsel  and  prayer.  Edith  listened  with  a  deeply  solemn- 
ized spirit.  It  was  her  most  earnest  desire  to  dedicate  herself 
openly  to  the  service  of  God.  She  acknowledged  the  claims 
of  her  Saviour,  and  felt  now,  though  with  deep  humility,  that 
she  could  assume  these  solemn  obligations,  and  by  God's  help 


THE   TWO   PASTORS.  69 

she  trusted  that  she  could  endeavor  to  perform  her  vows.  She 
inwardly  resolved  to  seek  Mr.  Berkely.  On  Monday  morning, 
having  obtained  the  approbation  of  Miss  Arnold,  and  the 
blessing  of  her  dear  mother,  as  she  pressed  her  to  her  heart 

with  a  warm  kiss,  she  rode  over  to  N ,  a  distance  of  a 

few  miles. 

On  entering  the  study,  Mr.  Berkely  arose,  and  taking  her 
hand,  led  her  to  a  seat,  saying,  kindly,  "  I  have  been  expecting 
you,  Edith,  though  I  have  purposely  avoided  speaking  to  you, 
especially  on  the  subject  which  I  hope  has  brought  you." 

"  I  have  come  with  a  trembling  heart,  Mr.  Berkely,  to  ask 
your  opinion  concerning  the  step  which  I  wish  to  take.  When 
the  Bishop's  notice  was  read  yesterday,  I  seemed  to  hear  a  voice 
saying  to  me,  '  The  Master  is  come  and  calleth  for  thee,'  and  I 
can  no  longer  delay.  I  believe  that  I  am  called  to  follow  Jesus. 
If  I  know  my  own  heart,  I  have  repented  truly  of  my  sins  past, 
and  trust  only  in  Jesus  for  salvation." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  thinking  of  this  step,  Edith  ?" 
asked  the  pastor. 

"  For  a  long  time ;  indeed,  ever  since  I  was  urged  by  Miss 
Barton  to  take  the  step.  I  am  truly  grateful  to  my  Heavenly 
Father  that  I  was  prevented  then,  for  I  believe  that  I  was 
wholly  unprepared." 

"  Do  you  feel  prepared  to  renounce  the  world  and  its  vani- 
ties, and  to  bear  the  cross  after  your  Redeemer  ?" 

"By  God's  help,  I  trust  that  I  am  willing,"  answered  Edith. 

"  What  evidences  have  you  of  having  passed  from  death 
unto  life,  Edith  ?" 

"  I  love  the  things  which  I  once  hated,  and  hate  what  once 
I  loved.  I  love  my  Bible,  prayer,  God's  day,  God's  people. 
I  prefer  God's  will  to  mine,  arid  am  anxious  to  bring  all  my 
powers  into  entire  subjection  to  his  holy  laws,"  answered 
Edith. 

"  What  are  your  feelings  towards  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ?" 

"I  trust  in  him  wholly  for  salvation.  I  love  his  holy, 
heavenly  character.  I  desire  to  be  like  him,  and  to  live  with 
him  forever." 


70  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  I  trust  that  T  can  bid  you  welcome,  my  dear  child,  as  a 
sincere  fol lower  of  the  blessed  Saviour.  None  but  the  Holy 
Spirit  could  have  produced  these  feelings  ;  and  having  com- 
menced the  work  of  grace  in  your  heart,  I  trust  that  he  will 
bring  you  home  in  safety  to  his  everlasting  kingdom.  Come 
to  me,  at  all  times,  my  child,  in  all  your  hours  of  weakness 
and  temptation,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  show  you  the  path  of 
duty  and  of  peace."  Then  kneeling  down,  he  fervently  com- 
mended the  case  of  the  young  Christian  to  the  Good  Shepherd, 
and  placing  in  her  hand  a  copy  of  the  "  Pastor's  Testimony," 
he  sawr  her  kindly  in  the  carriage  which  conveyed  her  home. 

That  evening  she  wrote  to  Gerald,  acquainting  him  with  her 
decision,  and  in  a  few  days  received  an  answer  full  of  affection, 
encouraging  her  in  her  new  life,  and  cheering  her  with  the  in- 
telligence, that  for  months  he  had  been  meditating  the  same 
step,  and  hoped  to  obtain  leave  of  absence  at  that  time,  that  he 
might,  with  her,  ratify  his  Christian  vows. 

On  the  day  before  Easter,  Gerald  arrived ;  and  after  tea 
the  young  people  repaired  to  the  old  elm  tree,  where  they  had 
so  often  held  sweet  communion  ;  and  now  their  conversation 
was  of  high  and  holy  things.  Gerald  confided  to  Edith  all  his 
feelings  and  desires,  all  his  fears  and  hopes  ;  and  she,  with  a 
full  heart,  listened  to  the  recital,  for  it  established  a  new  bond 
of  sympathy  between  them,  which  they  hoped  would  be  eternal. 
As  they  walked  arm-in-arm,  slowly  up  the  avenue,  though  the 
thoughts  which  filled  their  young  hearts  were  elevating  and 
purifying,  and  though  their  hopes  were  full  of  immortality, 
they  had  lost  some  of  the  rosy  tints  which  illumined  their  first 
dream  of  earthly  love,  and  which  were  mellowed,  and  some- 
what shaded,  by  the  anticipation  of  the  warfare  upon  which 
they  felt  they  were  about  to  enter.  They  could  not  read  of  the, 
Christian's  armor,  without  feeling  that  there  must  be  a  Chris- 
tian conflict ;  nor  of  the  promises  held  out  to  tried  and  suffer- 
ing pilgrims,  under  the  chastenings  of  their  Father,  without 
looking  for  life's  vicissitudes. 

Though  their  journey  thus  far,  had  led  them  through  green 
and  shady  paths,  illumined  by  the  bright  sunshine,  they  saw 


THE  TWO   PASTORS.  71 

the  distant  shadows,  subduing  the  brilliant  hues  of  life's  early 
morning;  but  over  all,  was  arched  the  bow  of  Christian  hope  ; 
directing  all,  was  seen  the  strong  wise  hand  of  their  Heavenly 
Fatl":r;  beyond  all,  faith  pointed  to  the  river  of  life,  and  the 
everlasting  union  of  saints  with  their  Redeemer,  and  each 
other,  in  the  temple  of  the  New  Jerusalem  above.  In  the 
depths  of  Edith's  strong  heart,  the  old  things  of  light  and 
thoughtless  youth  were  passing  away,  and  the  more  profound 
emotions  of  love  to  God,  and  resolutions  to  live  for  his  glory, 
were  preparing  her  for  the  trials  which  lay  before  her.  She 
loved  God  truly  for  Jesus'  sake,  but  Gerald  loved  him  most  for 
Edith's. 

The  next  morning  was  Easter  Sunday.  It  was  indeed  a 
resurrection  morn :  all  nature  smiled  with  the  promise  of  re- 
turning spring;  and  the  young  Christians  met  alone,  before 
they  went  to  church,  and  mingled  their  prayers  together. 
A  large  congregation  had  gathered ;  the  Bishop  was  seated  in 
the  chancel,  and  the  good  pastor  conducted  the  services  Avith 
unusual  solemnity.  When  the  time  for  the  confirmation  ar- 
rived, the  hymn, 

"  0  happy  day,  that  stays  my  choice, 
On  tliee,  niy  Saviour,  and  my  God." 

was  given  out,  and  while  singing  the  first  verse,  the  candidates 
approached  the  chancel.  Gerald  and  Edith  knelt  side  by 
side,  and  while  the  Bishop  laid  his  hands  on  their  heads, 
uttering  the  affecting  prayer,  "  Defend,  O  Lord,  these  thy 
servants,  with  thy  heavenly  grace,  that  they  may  continue 
thine  forever,"  they  felt  as  if  God's  blessing  rested  upon  them 
in  a  peculiar  manner,  and  their  hearts  were  comforted  by  the 
thought,  that  henceforth  they  would  tread  the  pilgrim's  path 
together,  until  they  reached  "the  everlasting  kingdom."  After 
the  service  they  partook  of  the  emblems  of  a  Saviour's  love, 
and  with  high  and  holy  resolutions  to  live  for  God,  they  re- 
turned to  their  pews.  The  organ  played  sweet  and  solemn 
music  as  they  left  the  church ;  their  thoughts  were  of  Christ 
and  heaven  ;  and  clad  with  the  panoply  of  the  gospel,  they 
went  forth  to  the  conflict.  Josephine  had  consented  to  witness 


72  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

the  services  on  that  Easter-day,  and  though  still  averse  to 
religion,  she  was  impressed  by  the  affecting  scene  more  than 
she  was  willing  to  confess,  and  could  say  but  little  when  Gerald 
returned  home  ;  added  to  this  feeling,  the  thought  that  Ralph 
Cameron  was  also  a  professing  Christian,  sealed  her  lips,  and 
she  forbore  remarks  which  she  might  otherwise  have  made. 
On  the  following  day,  Gerald  returned  to  college,  and  Edith  to 
the  faithful  discharge  of  her  new  relations. 

Desiring  to  be  useful,  she  took  charge  of  a  class  of  small 
children  in  the  Sunday-school,  and  soon  became  deeply  in- 
terested in  her  work.  Mrs.  Clifford's  health  still  continued 
delicate,  often  very  threatening ;  on  this  account  she  seldom 
attended  the  house  of  God,  but  most  generally  remained  at 
home  with  little  Lilly.  These  Sabbath  days  were  very  happy 
seasons  to  the  poor  child,  as  then  she  was  entirely  alone  with 
dear  mamma,  and  enjoyed  the  sweet  instruction  that  she 
gave.  Bible  stories,  sweet  hymns,  and  fervent  prayer,  occu- 
pied part  of  the  morning;  and  then  always  supplied  with 
some  interesting  story  of  youthful  piety,  she  made  the  child 
very  happy.  She  had  been  for  some  time  employed  in  writing 
simple  tales  for  her  blind  child,  and  these  were  always  pre- 
ferred by  little  Lilly,  after  the  teaching  was  over. 

"  Now,  dear  mamma,  one  of  your  own  beautiful  stories.  I 
do  not  like  anything  else  half  so  well." 

Not  being  able  to  go  to  church  twice  a  day,  Miss  Arnold 
and  Edith  gathered  a  class  of  poor  children  from  the  neighbor- 
hood in  the  afternoon,  and  instructed  them.  They  esteemed  it 
a  great  privilege  to  be  taught  by  the  ladies  of  Ravenswood, 
and  much  of  the  good  seed  of  the  kingdom  was  thus  scattered. 
Mr.  Berkely  encouraged  Edith  in  her  efforts,  and  when  he 
could  spare  time,  rode  over  to  visit  them,  and  pray  for  a  blessing 
upon  their  labors  of  love.  He  was  very  fond  of  sacred  music, 
and  would  generally  stop  in  Mrs.  Clifford's  room,  where  Miss 
Arnold  would  favor  him  with  some  of  her  beautiful  perform- 
ances. He  always  had  some  kind  word,  or  gracious  promise  to 
leave  with  Mrs.  Clifford,  which  was  as  a  cordial  to  her  drooping 
spirit  for  days  together. 


THE  TWO  PASTORS.  73 

Who  can  estimate  too  highly  the  blessed  influence  of  a  good 
pastor?  While  we  are  forbidden  to  give  them  the  love  which 
belongs  to  God  only,  we  are  told  to  "  esteem  them  very  highly 
in  love  for  their  work's  sake  ;"  and  truly  we  should ;  for  is  not 
their  work  a  blessed  employment?  Co-workers  with  God  in 
man's  salvation ;  guiding  the  tempted,  cheering  the  sorrowful, 
comforting  the  dying,  sanctifying  the  nuptial  tie,  blessing  in- 
fants in  the  Saviour's  name,  committing  the  dead  to  the  silent 
tomb.  How  varied !  how  intense  the  labors  of  a  faithful 
minister !  How  endless  the  demands  upon  his  time  and 
strength !  Who  needs  so  much  of  the  forbearance  of  his 
people,  and  their  faithful  prayers?  Could  those  who  take 
pleasure  in  censuring  their  pastors  only  know  of  the  demands 
of  one  single  day,  instead  of  blaming,  how  often  would  their 
unkind,  unreasonable  words  be  turned  into  prayer! 

Even  good  Mr.  Berkely  knew  something  of  these  trials,  and 
sometimes  when  speaking  of  them  to  a  judicious  friend  like 
Mrs.  Clifford,  he  felt  that  he  might  venture  to  show  her  a  list 
of  the  demands  of  one  day,  which  he  had  preserved  as  a  matter 
of  curiosity.  Calls  from  his  own  parishioners,  letters  to  write, 
a  lecture  to  prepare,  a  funeral  to  attend,  a  society  to  meet,  and 
visits  to  pay  in  distant  parts  of  his  parish ;  perhaps  in  the 
midst  of  all,  suddenly  called  out  of  town,  to  visit  a  dying 
person, — all  this  repeated  daily ;  and  yet  there  might  be  found 
in  the  parish  of  even  this  laborious  man,  censorious  spirits,  who 
could  impugn  his  motives,  undervalue  his  labors,  and  injure  his 
reputation  by  hidden  insinuations,  perhaps  at  the  very  minute, 
when  he  might  in  his  private  study,  be  bearing  before  the 
mercy-seat,  the  very  name  of  the  slanderer.  O!  that  the 
petition,  "  Brethren,  pray  for  us,"  might  sink  into  the  heart 
of  all  such,  and  turn  their  thoughtless  censures  into  earnest 
prayer. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


AUNT    PRISCILLA. 

0  COME  here,  Blanche !  What  odd-looking  gig 
is  that  coming  up  the  avenue?"  said  Adele,  as, 
running  to  the  window,  they  observed  a  large 
old-fashioned  vehicle,  perched  up  high  in  the  air, 
moving  towards  the  house.  As  it  drew  nearer, 
Adele  espied  a  queer,  antiquated-looking  figure, 
driving ;  on  a  closer  inspection,  she  said,  "  I  do 
believe  that  is  old  Aunt  Priscilla  that  we  have  heard  so  much 
about.  What  a  bore  she  must  be !  She'll  be  a  grand  quiz  for 
me,  that's  certain!" 

By  this  time  the  gig  had  been  driven  up  to  the  door,  and  a 
most  remarkable-looking  personage  dismounted,  and  fastening 
the  horse  to  a  post,  she  proceeded  into  the  house.  She  was  tall 
and  thin,  with  a  sallow  complexion,  and  an  aquiline  nose.  She 
wore  a  pair  of  old-fashioned  spectacles,  through  which  peered 
two  small,  piercing  black  eyes.  She  was  clad  in  a  dark  cotton 
dress,  a  large  collar,  and  a  black  cloak  that  enveloped  her 
whole  figure.  Thinking  hoops  very  wicked  articles,  which 
would  have  been  fined  by  the  good  old  Puritans,  she  utterly 
repudiated  them,  fearing  their  effect  upon  her  religious  charac- 
ter almost  as  much  as  Sabbath-breaking  and  kindred  sins,  and 
therefore  presented  a  peculiarly  long  and  lank  appearance. 
Her  bonnet  was  large,  with  a  deep  face,  something  in  the  shape 
of  a  coal-scuttle, — of  the  peculiar  fashion  worn  thirty  years 
74 


AUNT    PRISCILLA.  75 

before,  and  which,  for  conscience'  sake,  she  had  never  altered. 
Over  this  bonnet  she  wore  an  oil-cloth  covering  always,  in 
travelling ;  and  when  walking,  was  never  seen  without  a  blue 
cotton  umbrella.  She  had  large  pockets  in  her  dress,  which 
contained  a  curious  medley  of  convenient  articles.  In  one, 
were  her  hair-brush  and  comb,  her  tooth-brush,  snuff-box, 
spectacle-case,  large  purse,  and  a  pair  of  glasses  for  out-doors. 
In  the  other,  were  a  small  pocket  Testament,  an  old  hymn 
book,  a  large  knitting-bag,  another  bag  containing  candies  for 
good  children,  a  ball  for  her  cat,  a  bundle  of  tracts,  another  of 
patch-work,  with  needle-book,  scissors,  thimble,  etc. 

With  an  umbrella  in  her  hand,  she  rang  the  bell ;  and  when 
Uncle  Peter  made  his  appearance,  she  asked  for  Mrs.  Clifford ; 
and  altogether,  he  was  much  amused  at  the  sight  of  the  queer 
old  lady.  He  showed  her  politely  into  the  family-room,  where 
Mrs.  Clifford  was  sitting,  and  ran  off,  as  quickly  as  he  could, 
into  the  kitchen,  for  fear  of  laughing  outright. 

"  Well,  Mary,  I've  corned  a  long  journey  to  see  you,  for  I 
heerd  you  was  sick,  and  I  have  brought  a  lot  of  my  physic, 
which  I  know  will  do  you  a  heap  of  good ;  but  let  me  look  at 
you.  Well !  you  do  look  a  little  pale  and  thin,  and  I  don't 
like  the  red  spot  on  your  cheek,  nor  the  shiny  look  of  your 
eye." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Aunt  Priscilla ;  you  are  very  kind  to 
come  so  many  miles  to  see  me,  and  I  will  try  to  make  you  as 
comfortable  as  I  can." 

With  these  words,  Mrs.  Clifford  rang  the  bell  for  a  servant, 
which  was  answered  by  the  same  old  servant.  "  Uncle  Peter 
have  the  horse  and  gig  put  up,  belonging  to  this  lady,  and  be 
sure  to  attend  to  the  horse  well  before  he  goes  into  the  stable : 
he  has  come  a  long  journey." 

"  I  will  go  out  myself,  Mary,  for  I  have  a  heap  of  things 
to  bring  in;"  and  away  trotted  Aunt  Priscilla,  after  old 
Peter. 

First,  her  trunk  was  taken  off  the  back  of  the  carriage, 
then  two  or  three  bandboxes,  one  large  box  of  medicines,  a 
large  basket,  with  the  lid  carefully  tied  down,  a  small  one, 


76  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

secured  also,  then  a  cage  containing  a  noisy  parrot,  then  a  large 
jar  of  apple-butter,  and  a  box  of  fine  apples.  When  all  were 
carefully  taken  out,  Aunt  Priscilla,  picking  up  the  largest 
basket  herself,  took  it  into  Mrs.  Clifford's  room,  and  on  un- 
tying it,  out  sprang  a  King  Charles  spaniel,  who  frisked  and 
frolicked  around  his  mistress  as  if  delighted  to  regain  his  liberty. 
"  Go  speak  to  the  lady,  Snip,"  said  Aunt  Priscilla  ;  and  away 
went  Snip,  on  his  hind  legs,  to  salute  Mrs.  Clifford,  who  took 
the  little  paw,  and  received  in  return  a  gracious  kiss  upon  her 
hand.  On  opening  the  second  basket,  a  large  cat  made  its 
appearance.  "  This  is  Uncle  Toby,  Mary.  You  have  no  idea 
what  a  smart  thing  it  is.  I  could  not  leave  the  poor  things  at 
home,  they'd  a  grieved  themselves  to  death  away  from  me,  so 
wherever  I  goes,  Snip  and  Toby  always  follow ;  then  Polly 
must  come  too, — so  here  are  my  three  pets.  I  takes  care  of  all 
myself ;  all  I  want  is  some  cream  for  their  breakfast,  and  some- 
thing nice  for  their  dinner.  They  sleep  in  my  room,  and  I 
won't  let  them  trouble  you." 

At  this  moment  Edith  entered  the  room. 

"  Which  one  is  this,  Mary  ?" 

"This  is  my  eldest  daughter,  Edith,"  replied  Mrs.  Clifford. 

"  What  did  you  say,  honey  ?  I  can't  hear  you ;  I'm  very 
deaf,"  said  Aunt  Priscilla ;  and  Mrs.  Clifford  had  to  repeat  her 
introduction ;  then  addressing  Edith,  she  said,  "  This  is  your 
father's  aunt,  my  child ;  many  a  day  and  night  has  she  nursed 
him  when  a  baby,  waited  on  him  when  a  little  fellow,  and  been 
a  kind  friend  to  him  all  his  life.  You  will  be  especially  atten- 
tive to  Aunt  Priscilla,  if  you  wish  to  please  your  father." 

Edith  advanced  with  a  pleasant  manner,  and  allowed  the 
old  lady  to  kiss  her  affectionately,  although  she  was  far  from 
attractive  upon  close  contact,  for  she  was  an  inveterate  snuffer, 
and  was  by  no  means  particular  in  keeping  her  face  free  from 
the  offensive  powder 

"Well,  surely,  Mary,  she's  a  nice-looking  girl, — the  very 
spit  of  her  father.  I  shall  love  her,  I  know,  for  his  sake." 

"  Edith,  will  you  see  Aunt  Priscilla  to  her  room  ?  She  may 
want  to  change  her  dress ;  she  must  be  tired." 


AUNT    PRISCILLA.  77 

And  the  young  girl  kindly  led  her  to  a  pleasant  chamber, 
and  saw  all  her  treasures  placed  suitably  away.  She  was  some- 
what amused  on  seeing  the  bed  for  Snip  on  one  side  of  Aunt 
Priscilla's,  and  one  for  Toby  on  the  other.  Poll  was  hung  up 
against  the  wall,  and  being  rather  tired,  soon  composed  herself 
to  sleep.  After  providing  her  with  every  comfort,  Edith  re- 
turned to  her  mother  and  heard  her  aunt's  history. 

She  was  the  great-aunt  of  Mr.  Clifford,  and  had  lived  with 
his  mother  all  her  married  life.  Never  having  married,  she 
had  attached  herself  strongly  to  her  niece's  family,  and  though 
possessed  of  many  peculiarities,  had  always  been  kindly  treated 
for  her  real  worth.  She  had  many  singular  notions,  which  she 
maintained  with  great  pertinacity,  was  a  believer  in  signs  and 
oincns,  and  had  a  great  antipathy  to  the  other  sex,  believing 
that  all  were  fortune-hunters.  Having  lived  all  her  days  in 
the  country,  she  knew  nothing  of  the  manners  of  city  life,  and 
esteemed  everything  wicked  which  did  not  accord  with  her  own 
views  of  propriety.  She  had  a  great  passion  for  attendance 
upon  baptisms,  weddings,  and  funerals,  and  esteemed  herself 
much  slighted  if  not  allowed  to  have  some  directions  to  give  on 
all  such  occasions  among  her  neighbors.  For  many  years,  the 
list  had  been  made  out  of  persons  whom  she  wished  to  attend 
her  funeral,  and  where  they  were  to  walk.  If  one  died,  the 
name  was  erased  ;  or  if  one  offended  her,  the  place  was  changed 
with  regard  to  precedence,  or  else  cut  off  altogether ;  moreover, 
her  grave-clothes  were  kept  constantly  by  her,  and  every 
spring  were  laid  upon  the  grass  to  whiten.  She  had  a  great 
habit  of  talking  to  her  friends  about  their  place  of  interment, 
and  ofter  shocked  the  nerves  of  delicate  persons  by  her  rough 
remarks.  She  lived  on  her  own  little  farm,  surrounded  by 
many  comforts,  and  keeping  one  servant,  old  Sarah,  who  had 
lived  with  her  manv  years.  None  knew  exactly  what  Aunt 
Priscilla  was  worth,  but  the  neighbors  generally  thought 
that  she  was  possessed  of  more  than  she  was  willing  to  acknow- 
ledge. 

With  all  her  peculiarities,  she  had  really  a  very  kind  and 
generous  heart.  Whenever  a  charitable  object  was  on  foot, 


78  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

a  new  church  to  be  built,  a  school-house  erected,  or  a  charity 
to  be  endowed,  there  were  always  some  anonymous  contribu- 
tions, scrawled  in  a  miserable  manner,  which  many  suspected 
came  from  Aunt  Priscilla.  Having  retained  her  love  for  her 
nephew,  George  Clifford,  she  came  to  see  him  once  in  a  great 
while.  So  long  had  it  been  that  Edith  had  forgotten  her  ap- 
pearance. When  she  presented  herself  at  the  tea-table,  Adele 
could  scarcely  restrain  her  laughter.  Dressed  in  a  black 
silk  gown,  high-heeled  shoes,  and  a  plaited  high-cornered 
mob-cap,  and  her  thin  lank  figure,  attended  by  Uncle  Toby 
and  Snip,  she  presented  a  ludicrous  appearence. 

"Who  is  this?"  said  the  old  lady  as  she  looked  at  Blanche. 

"  This  is  my  daughter  Blanche,"  replied  Mrs.  Clifford. 

"And  sure,  is  that  her  name?  Well,  this  is  a  'perty  little 
critter,  anyhow !  And  this  one,  Mary  ?"  as  she  looked  at 
Adele. 

"  This  is  my  daughter  Adele,  a  merry  little  girl." 

"  So  I  should  think,  Mary ;  but  she  ought  not  to  laugh  at 
us  old  people,  as  I  have  seen  her  do  this  evening." 

Adele  blushed  and  turned  her  head  away,  for  she  could  not 
deny  the  truth  of  what  the  old  lady  had  detected. 

"  And  this  is  my  little  Lilly,  Aunt  Priscilla.  She  is  our  dear 
pet,"  said  Mrs.  Clifford,  as  she  led  her  around  to  the  old  lady. 

Aunt  Priscilla  wiped  the  tears  away  from  her  eyes,  as  she 
kindly  laid  her  aged  hand  on  the  head  of  the  blind  child,  and 
drawing  her  near  her,  kissed  her  soft  cheek. 

It  required  all  Mrs.  Clifford's  forbearance  to  endure  some  of 
the  unpleasant  habits  of  the  old  lady  ;  for  she  would  take  snuff 
at  the  table  in  large  pinches,  and  what  she  did  not  use,  she 
would  blow  away,  and  frequently  it  entered  the  eyes  and 
sprinkling  the  plates  of  her  neighbors ;  and  then  the  odor  of 
her  pocket-handkerchief  was  peculiarity  offensive. 

When  the  bell  rang  for  worship,  Aunt  Priscilla  joined  fer- 
vently in  the  exercises,  and  after  it  was  over  said  : 

"  Mary,  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  have  grace  to  bear  the 
cross,  and  to  own  the  Lord  before  your  family ;  but  I'm  afeerd 
that  George  is  sarving  the  evil  one." 


AUNT    PRISCILLA.  79 

At  bedtime  Edith  led  the  old  lady  to  her  room,  helped  her 
to  undress,  and  kissing  her  affectionately,  bade  her  good-night. 

Next  day,  she  was  up  betimes,  and  with  her  white  muslin 
apron,  ready  for  work,  attended  by  Toby  and  Snip,  made  her 
way  to  the  kitchen.  The  servants  were  alarmed  at  the  sight 
of  the  old  lady,  as  they  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  so  much  in- 
terference ;  but,  accustomed  to  a  stirring  life,  she  proposed  to 
make  herself  useful ;  and  for  a  commencement,  mixed  what 
she  called  an  armlet,  but  so  tough  with  flour,  that  no  one 
could  eat  it.  She  pronounced  the  coffee  too  strong,  and  was 
going  to  weaken  it,  when  the  cook  interfered,  and  protested 
against  it  being  done.  Uncle  Toby  and  Snip  were  running 
about,  thrusting  their  noses  in  everything,  and  Uncle  Peter 
sat  in  the  corner,  rolling  up  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  stuffing 
his  mouth  with  his  handkerchief,  to  stifle  the  laughter  which 
shook  his  fat  sides  at  the  sight  of  the  cook's  indignation,  her 
face  blazing  with  anger,  knocking  about  the  cups  and  plates, 
and  venting  her  spleen  upon  the  pots  and  kettles.  Finding 
the  kitchen  becoming  too  warm,  Aunt  Priscilla  hastily  took 
her  departure,  attended  by  her  two  pets,  and  did  not  soon 
venture  into  those  stormy  domains.  Watching  her  oppor- 
tunity, as  soon  as  she  found  herself  alone,  she  commenced 
her  investigation  of  Mrs.  Clifford's  state  of  health. 

"  Are  you  troubled  with  a  cough,  Mary  ?"  asked  the  old 
lady. 

"  I  have  been  for  a  long  time,  but  it  does  not  seem  to  grow 
any  worse." 

Aunt  Priscilla  leaned  her  elbow  on  her  knee,  placed  her 
thumb  and  finger  under  her  nose,  threw  up  her  eyes,  and  said 
in  a  very  solemn  manner,  "  Humph !  that's  bad !"  while  she 
kept  jogging  her  foot. 

Then,  she  added,  "  Do  you  have  night-sweats,  and  fever  in 
the  afternoon?" 

"  I  used  to  have  them  more  than  now,  but  they  still  trouble 
me." 

Aunt  Priscilla  uttered  a  groan,  and  rocked  herself  quickly 
in  her  chair. 


80  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  My  child,  you  must  take  some  of  my  medicines.  They  are 
all  Ingin  cures,  and  made  out  of  yarbs;  they  have  cured  a 
heap  of  people  that  were  further  gone  in  consumption  than  you 
are." 

"Thank  you,  Aunt  Priscilla,  but  as  I  have  a  physician,  I 
think  that  I  ought  to  obey  his  directions." 

"  Well,  child,  I  don't  think  much  of  your  reg'lar  bred  doc- 
tors, specially  in  consumption.  I  think  that  they  kill  more 
than  they  cure.  Mary,  where  do  you  'spect  to  be  buried  ?  I 
s'ppse  here,  at  Ravenswood?"  asked  Aunt  Priscilla.  "  All  my 
plans  for  my  burying  has  been  made  for  twenty  years.  I 
think  that  it  saves  a  heap  of  trouble  for  our  friends,"  continued 
Aunt  Priscilla. 

Mrs.  Clifford  was  much  annoyed,  for  she  knew  that  no  sub- 
ject could  be  more  painful  in  her  family  circle  than  the  one  just 
broached. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  company  called,  and  Aunt 
Priscilla,  whose  curiosity  was  always  active,  made  her  way  into 
the  drawing-room,  where  Mrs.  Renshaw  and  her  daughter  were 
in  conversation  with  Mrs.  Clifford.  They  were  fashionable 
ladies  and  looked  rather  surprised  on  seeing  such  a  queer-look- 
ing old  woman  in  company  with  their  hostess.  Mrs.  Clifford 
introduced  Aunt  Priscilla,  who  came  up  close  to  her  niece,  and 
screamed  out,  "  Who  did  you  say,  Mary?  Mrs.  Reindeer?" 

"No,  aunt,  Mrs.  Renshawr,"  calmly  answered  Mrs.  Clifford, 
who  saw  that  her  guests,  with  all  their  politeness,  were  scarcely 
able  to  restrain  their  laughter. 

"  Oh !  sure,  Renshawr.  I  wonder  if  they  be  any  kin  to  old 
John  Renshawr,  that  used  to  work  in  my  potato  patch  ?" 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Clifford  began  to  feel  very  uneasy,  and 
fearing  that  her  old  friend  might  meet  with  some  rebuff,  said, 

"  Aunt  Priscilla,  I  think  that  Edith  wants  you  to  show  her 
how  to  knit  a  tidy.  She  has  some  leisure  now,  and  you'll  find 
her  in  the  school-room." 

Ever  ready  for  employment  and  unsuspicious  she  arose 
hastily,  and  hurried  off  to  seek  for  Edith.  Mr.  Clifford  was 
very  kind  to  the  old  lady  for  he  remembered  an  event  which 


AUNT    PRISCILLA.  81 

happened  many  years  before,  when,  but  for  her  timely  aid,  he 
would  have  lost  thousands  of  dollars;  but,  as  Aunt  Priscilla 
was  staying  with  him  at  the  time,  she  discovered  the  cause  of 
his  uuhappiness ;  and  early  one  morning,  equipped  in  her  dark 
cotton  travelling  dress,  her  scooped-faced  bonnet,  with  her  old 
blue  umbrella,  and  mounted  in  her  old-fashioned  gig,  she  started 
off  for  home.  On  being  pressed  to  stay  she  refused,  saying 
that  she  would  be  back  in  a  day  or  twvo.  At  the  end  of  the 
second  day,  her  old  gig  was  seen  slowly  coming  up  the  avenue, 
and  Aunt  Priscilla  had  upon  her  countenance  a  peculiar  ex- 
pression of  satisfaction  as  she  dismounted. 

After  tea,  Mr.  Clifford  entered  his  library.  While  ponder- 
ing over  his  troubles,  and  seeing  no  way  of  escape,  suddenly 
his  eye  rested  upon  an  old  greasy  pocket-book  and  a  very  large 
note,  in  which  was  scrawled,  near  the  top  of  the  envelope, 
"  For  my  dear  ncvey,  George  Clifford."  When  he  opened  it, 
to  his  surprise,  there  was  inclosed  a  check  for  the  exact  amount 
which  he  needed,  and  all  that  was  written  within  was,  "  Don't  ask 
any  questions.  I  see  you  are  in  trouble.  I  can  help  you.  You 
are  welcome  to  the  money.  I  have  nothing  else  to  do  with  it 
but  to  help  my  nabors,  and  specially  my  nevey  George.  This 
comes  from  Aunt  Priscilla." 

He  had  never  forgotten  the  generous  deed,  and  could  always 
bear  with  her  peculiarities  (which  were  really  sometimes  very 
annoying),  when  he  thought  upon  her  real  worth.  Madge  was 
rude,  and  often  very  saucy  to  the  old  lady,  despised  her  cat  and 
dog,  and  wished  poor  Poll  sunk  in  the  Hudson. 

"  Aunt  Silla,  Aunt  Silla,  Poll  wants  her  breakfast,"  was  the 
constant  cry  in  the  morning ;  and  all  day  long  the  parrot  was 
screaming  and  chattering  at  the  very  top  of  her  voice.  She 
was  frequently  brought  into  the  dining-room,  and  during  the 
dinner  hour  often  deafened  the  ears  of  the  family  Avith  her 
noise,  and  in  a  very  short  time  screaming  out  the  names  of  the 
household.  Many  were  the  mistakes  made  by  Aunt  Priscilia. 
On  the  first  day  that  she  came  to  the  dinner-table,  she  ob- 
served the  finger-bowls,  and  wondered  that  they  should  have 
glass  bowls  to  drink  out  of.  Finding  the  bowl  filled  with 


82  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

water,  she  soon  drank  its  contents,  which  Uncle  Peter  speedily 
replenished.  When  Adele  observed  her  emptying  it  the  second 
time,  she  was  nearly  convulsed  with  laughter.  It  was  filled 
again,  and  the  old  lady  turned  innocently  to  Uncle  Peter,  declar- 
ing "  that  she  could  not  drink  any  more."  The  old  man  got  out 
of  the  room  as  fast  as  he  could,  for  fear  of  laughing  out  loud, 
and  Adele  was  shaking  with  suppressed  merriment.  When 
Aunt  Priscilla  observed  the  family  dipping  their  fingers  into 
the  bowls  after  dinner,  nothing  could  exceed  her  astonishment. 

"  Well,  sure  now,  is  this  the  fashion  to  wash  the  hands  in 
drinking-bowls  ?  I  think  it's  about  one  of  the  most  ungenteel 
ways  I  ever  seed." 

Blanche  was  generally  polite  in  the  presence  of  the  old  lady, 
for  she  desired  the  good  opinion  of  everybody  ;  but  she  would 
join  Adele  in  her  absence  in  ridiculing  all  her  foibles,  although 
they  had  both  heard  the  story  of  her  kindness  to  their  father. 

Aunt  Priscilla  was  very  much  afraid  of  ridicule,  and  soon 
discovered  that  she  was  a  subject  of  mirth  to  the  thoughtless 
children.  For  a  long  time,  for  their  parents'  sake,  she  did  not 
openly  notice  it ;  but  at  last,  one  day  she  caught  Adele  dressed 
in  her  bonnet,  with  her  blue  umbrella,  and  screaming  in 
Blanche's  ears,  "What  did  you  say?  Did  you  see  Uncle 
Toby?  Where's  my  Snip?"  Blanche  was  laughing  im- 
moderately, when  in  came  Aunt  Priscilla. 

"  This  is  fine  sport  for  young  ladies,  to  be  sure,  making  fun 
of  an  old  body ;  take  care  children :  remember  the  bears  that 
devoured  the  children  for  making  game  of  old  Elisha.  I'll  re- 
member this,  mind  I  tell  you  ;  you'll  be  sorry  for  making  fun 
of  old  Aunt  Priscilla,  some  day :"  and  away  she  went,  leaving 
the  children  rather  ashamed  of  their  performance. 

Edith  was  universally  kind,  and  Aunt  Priscilla  fully  ap- 
preciated it.  She  loved  the  young  girl,  and  esteemed  nothing 
too  much  trouble,  if  it  gave  her  pleasure.  It  required  a  great 
deal  of  patience  to  answer  all  her  questions  ;  for,  being  so  very 
deaf,  she  was  continually  asking,  "  What  did  she  say?  Did 
she  .speak  to  me?"  ard  Edith,  with  real  Christian  patience, 
bore  with  the  tiresomt  old  lady,  and  tried  to  make  her  happy. 


AUNT    PRISCILiA.  83 

Having  observed  the  interest  which  Edith  manifested  in  her 
81111  day -school,  Aunt  Priscilla  furnished  her  with  means  to 
purchase  books,  and  often  presented  her  with  a  five-dollar  note, 
for  additions  to  her  own  private  library.  She  kept  her  eyes 
about  her,  and  although  apparently  so  ignorant,  she  had  great 
discernment  of  character,  and  was  deeply  interested  in  the 
affairs  of  her  nephew's  family.  During  her  stay  at  Ravens- 
wood,  Gerald  Fortescue  paid  a  visit  home,  and  Aunt.  Priscilla 
soon  perceived  the  attachment  between  the  young  people. 

"  Mary,  I  don't  think  Ger'ld  ought  to  have  our  Edith ;  he's 
a  weak  youth,  and  I'm  afeerd  he'll  not  make  her  happy. 
She's  what  I  call  a  rale  fine,  strong-minded  girl ;  not  wishy- 
washy,  like  half  the  young  girls,  nor  like  Josephine  Fortescue, 
— for  she  ought  to  put  .on  pantaloons  right  straight,  and  a 
man's  hat,  and  set  up  for  a  man  at  once ;  but  our  Edith  is  a 
rale  woman,  and  ought  to  marry  a  man  that  she  can  look  up 
to ;  and  it  always  seems  to  me,  that  Ger'ld  keeps  looking  up  to 
her.  Now  that  arn't  the  Bible  rule,  and  I'm  afeerd  it  won't 
work  well." 

"  They  are  not  engaged,  Aunt  Priscilla,"  answered  Mrs. 
Clifford. 

"  Well,  they  love  each  other,  and  that's  the  same  thing  with 
Edith  Clifford  ;  and,  mind  what  I  say,  Mary,  I'm  an  old  body, 
but  I  havn't  forgotten  the  days  of  my  youth :  mark  my  words, 
Edith  will  never  love  but  once,  and  if  she's  disapp'inted  it  will 
pretty  nigh  break  her  heart." 

"I  try  to  leave  all  these  things  with  God,  Aunt  Priscilla. 
He  will  direct  us,  if  we  trust  in  him." 

"  Mind  I  tell  you,  Mary,  you  must  take  good  keer  of  Edith  ; 
she's  jist  for  all  the  world  like  me  ;  she'll  never  take  to  moro 
than  one.  Maybe  I  never  told  you  about  my  young  days,  but 
I'll  tell  you  now.  When  I  was  a  young  gal,  Jedediah  Turn- 
blestone  came  a  courtin'  me,  and  I  thought  a  heap  on  him. 
He  was  a  fine,  tall  young  man,  straight  and  slim  as  a  young 
poplar,  with  eyes  as  blue  as  chany,  and  a  skin  as  rosy  as  a 
piny, — they  used  to  say  his  hair  was  too  red,  but  howsomever, 
I  uever  seed  it ;  I  called  it  auburn,  I  b'lieve  that's  the  word. 


84  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

He  had  a  nice  farm,  which  he  owned  clear  of  all  heavy  drags ; 
but  he  had  a  mother  who  was  mighty  proud  on  him,  and  she 
wanted  him  to  marry  a  young  woman  that  had  jist  come  to 
stay  with  'em  awhile.  Sally  Jones  had  a  handsome  property, 
and  I  had  nothin'  then,  so  she  coaxed  and  wheedled  Jeddy.  I 
seed  she  was  a  stealin'  him  away  from  me,  and  I  was  too 
spirited  to  say  a  word.  I  used  sometimes  to  feel  as  if  it  would 
break  my  heart  right  out,  but  my  stiff  sperit  fetched  me 
through,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  what  to  do.  Now,  Mary,  I 
was  all  ready  to  be  married.  I  had  a  big  chest  full  of  bed- 
quilts  and  sheets  that  I  made  myself.  I  had  lots  of  piller 
cases  and  towels,  and  my  wedding  dress  was  all  cut  out ;  it 
was  a  light  drab  silk,  stiff  enough  to  stand  all  alone ;  but  for 
all  that,  one  night  Jeddy  came  to  see  me,  and  says  I,  '  Jeddy, 
I  'spect  that  you  like  another  gal  more  nor  me.  If  you  would 
rather  take  Sally  Jones,  I'm  not  the  gal  to  stand  in  your  way. 
I  wouldn't  have  you,  Jeddy,  if  your  heart  is  with  another.' 
Mary,  do  you  believe  it  ?  he  looked  glad,  and  said,  '  Thank'ee, 
Priscilla.  I  think,  somehow,  I'd  rather  marry  Sally  Jones.' 
My  heart  was  in  my  mouth,  and  I  was  a'most  choked,  but  he 
didn't  see  it;  he  never  know'd  it,  for  I  kept  my  head  up,  and 
went  to  his  wedclin',  and  to  the  house-warmin',  to  make  out  I 
didn't  keer.  Now  I've  never  taken  to  a  man  since,  and  this 
is  jist  the  way  Edith  '11  do,  and  I  want  to  save  her  the  trouble 
of  sperit  which  I  had. 

"  Then  I  want  to  ask  you  another  question.  What  do  you 
mean  to  do  with  that  Madge,  Mary?  She's  the  greatest  oddity 
I  ever  seed  in  all  my  days.  What  will  she  ever  be  good  for  ? 
She  does  nothing  but  pore  over  her  books,  and  pout,  and  look 
sullen  all  the  time.  I  declare,  that  sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I 
could  about  knock  her  over." 

"  There  are  times,  Aunt  Priscilla,  when  Madge  deeply  re- 
pents of  her  evil  tempers ;  and  if  we  can  only  once  convince 
her  that  she  can  be  beloved,  I  hope  much  for  her  yet.  She 
has  the  idea  that  every  one  hates  her." 

"Well,  and  there's  that  pretty  Blanche;  I'm  afeerd  that 
face  of  hers  will  bring  some  trouble  to  this  house.  She's  as 


AUNT   PRISCILLA.  85 

perty  as  any  picter  of  an  angel  that  I  ever  seed  in  my  life  ; 
but  I  don't  think  that  she'll  ever  die  of  a  broken  heart,  becase 
I  see  that  she  always  thinks  like  them  she's  with;  but  she  may 
make  others  feel  a  deal  more  than  she  desarves." 

"  I  try,  dear  aunt,  to  bring  up  my  children  in  a  Christian 
manner.  I  pray  much  for  them,  and  I  believe  that  the  Good 
Shepherd  will  take  care  of  them,  and  bring  us  all  home  to  his 
everlasting  kingdom." 

"  That  Adele  puzzles  me.     She's  always  so  brimful  of  fun 
and  mischief,  that  I've  never  found  out,  yet,  whether  she  has 
Ik  any  feeling.     I  don't  think  she  can  have  much,  when  she  can 
f  make  fun  of  an  old  body  like  me ;  but  sometimes  these  people 
that  seem  to  be  so  merry,  have  a  great  deal  in  them  that's  rale 
and  genuine.     But  Mary,  you  have  a  treasure  in  your  daugh- 
ter Edith :  she's  the  light  of  my  old  eyes,  and  the  joy  of  my 
old  heart,  and  while  I  live  she  shall  never  want  a  friend,  and 
when  I  die,  she  shall   always  have  reason  to  remember  her 
kindness  to  Aunt  Priscilla." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

A    PICTURE    ON    THE    BALCONY. 

URING  the  summer  vacation  Gerald  returned 
home  ;  Ralph  was  with  him,  and  Frank  also  was 
at  home.  He  had  grown  considerably,  for  a  few 
months  make  a  great  difference  in  a  boy.  He 
was  much  improved,  but  was  still  the  same 
sportive,  teasing  hoy;  and  after  having  been  so 
long  restrained,  was  continually  in  a  gale  of 
merriment  among  his  sisters.  Aunt  Priscilla  was  a  source  of 
great  amusement;  and  he  frequently  played  practical  jokes 
upon  her,  that  displeased  his  parents  exceedingly. 

The  young  people  were  much  together.  Edith  paid  many 
visits  to  the  old  elm  tree,  and  in  the  sweet  influence  which  she 
exerted  over  Gerald,  commenced  that  gentle,  holy  ministry 
which  hereafter  blessed  so  many.  Madge's  icy  manners  and 
wintry  aspect  thawed  beneath  the  sunshine  of  noble  Ralph 
Cameron.  Josephine  Fortescue  lost  much  of  her  arrogant, 
imperious  manners.  In  the  presence  of  Ralph  she  was  silent 
and  abstracted,  and  evidently  acknowledged  his  superiority, 
and  sometimes  trembled  under  his  disapproving  glance. 
Gerald  clung  closely  to  Edith.  Frank  was  the  merry  leader 
of  every  mischievous  prank ;  but,  although  exhibiting  so  much 
that  was  boyish  and  playful,  Mrs.  Clifford  was  pleased  to  hear 
from  Gerald  and  Ralph  such  encouraging  accounts  of  his 
standing  at  school,  as  a  boy  of  fine  talents.  Blanche  and 
86 


A  PICTURE  ON    THE  BALCONY.  87 

Adele  were  in  their  element ;  and  even  little  Lilly  partook  of 
the  general  joy,— for  when  the  boys  were  at  home,  everything 
was  bright  and  happy. 

One  tine  afternoon  in  summer,  all  had  assembled  in  the 
garden  at  the  back  of  the  house.  It  was  a  charming  spot, 
laid  out  in  terraces,  in  which  was  planted  a  great  profusion  of 
iiowers,  especially  every  variety  of  the  rarest  and  most  exquisite 
roses.  It  was  of  great  extent,  with  winding  paths,  bordered 
with  luxuriant  shrubbery.  In  the  more  distant  parts  there 
were  very  fine  shade  trees,  with  summer-houses,  rustic-seats, 
and  statuary  adorning  the  most  retired  portions.  Near  the 
house  lay  the  flower-garden.  On  either  side  of  the  mansion 
stood  noble  trees,  shading  the  wings,  and  imparting  a  rural 
appearance  to  the  spot.  Gerald  and  Edith  were  seated  in  a 
distant  summer-house,  enjoying  a  favorite  book,  which  he  was 
reading  to  her.  Kalph  was  playing  a  game  of  graces  with 
Madge ;  and  while  she  forgot  herself  in  the  exhilaration  of  the 
sport,  her  motions  were  free  and  airy,  and  her  beautiful  eyes 
danced  with  the  delight  she  felt.  Frank  ran  races  with 
Blanche  and  Adele.  When  tired  of  play,  the  girls  gathered  a 
quantity  of  roses,  which  they  made  into  graceful  wreaths. 
Blanche  ran  off'  with  hers  up  to  the  balcony,  and  in  her 
sportiveness,  she  looked  there  the  very  personification  of  girlish 
beauty  and  grace.  Running  roses  entwined  the  columns  of 
the  balcony,  and  woven  through  the  lattice-work,  gave  it  the 
appearance  of  a  beautiful  arbor  of  delicate  flowers.  In  the 
midst  stood  the  fascinating  figure.  She  was  at  this  time  a 
graceful  child  of  twelve  years  of  age.  Her  deep  blue  eyes 
were  shaded  by  long,  dark  eyelashes ;  her  nose  was  Grecian ; 
her  rose-bud  mouth  expressed  all  the  varying  emotions  of  her 
heart;  around  it  lay  countless  dimples;  and  when  she  smiled, 
her  lips  disclosed  rows  of  pearly  teeth.  Her  complexion  was 
of  that  peculiar  hue  which  indicated  delicacy  of  constitution, 
yet  the  rosy  blush  which  mantled  her  sweet  face,  imparted 
fresh  charms  to  her  lovely  appearance.  Her  hair  was  of  a 
golden  brown,  which  hung  over  her  snowy  neck  and  shoulders 
in  rich  profusion.  Her  figure  was  symmetrical,  even  at  that 


83  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

early  age.  She  was  clad  in  a  white  dress,  over  which  was 
thrown  the  wreath  of  roses  which  she  had  gracefully  woven ; 
in  her  hands  she  held  the  basket  which  she  had  brought  from 
the  garden.  As  she  stood  there,  scattering  her  flowers  upon 
Madge  and  Adele,  nothing  could  have  been  more  bewitching 
than  the  lovely  picture.  Gerald  and  Edith  were  advancing  at 
the  moment  towards  the  balcony. 

"Look,  Edith!"  said  Gerald,  "was  there  ever  anything 
more  charming?" 

"  She  is  charming,  indeed,  Gerald,"  answered  Edith. 

"Blanche,  stand  still  for  a  few  minutes,"  said  Gerald* 
"just  as  you  are ;"  and  taking  out  his  pencil  and  paper,  he 
rapidly  sketched  the  enchanting  vision  that  stood  before  him. 

"  Have  you  done,  Gerald  ?"  and  she  kissed  the  lovely  hand 
as  she  said,  "Thank  you  for  the  picture;  I  shall  expect  it 
when  it  is  done,  for  dear  mamma." 

"  No,  indeed,  Blanche ;  if  I  am  successful,  I  shall  keep  it 
for  myself;  for  I  shall  think  a  great  deal  of  my  first  attempt 
at  figures.  You  must  come  over  to-morrow  for  your  first 
sitting.  Wear  the  same  dress.  I  am  very  anxious  to  get  to 
work." 

Aunt  Priscilla  was  intently  looking  upon  the  scene,  when 
Gerald  stood  sketching  Blanche.  She  said  to  herself,  "  He'll 
make  her  as  vain  as  a  peacock  ;  and  Edith  had  better  take 
keer  of  her.  When  she's  a  little  older,  with  her  pretty  face, 
and  winning  ways,  she'll  steal  away  Gerid's  heart — mark  ray 
words.  He's  a  weak  brother,  and  Edith  will  find  it  out. 
She'll  have  to  go  through  my  experience  yet." 

Edith  chided  her  heart  for  the  uncomfortable  feelings  that 
disturbed  her,  by  Gerald's  admiration  of  her  little  sister 
Blanche,  and  despised  herself  for  the  first  feelings  of  jealousy 
•which  she  had  ever  experienced. 

"What  a  miserable  creature  I  must  be?"  said  she,  "to  be 
jealous  of  a  little  girl ;"  and  she  resolved  to  strangle  the 
feeling  in  its  very  birth ;  and  by  God's  help  she  succeeded, 
and  cheerfully  helped  Blanche  off  next  morning,  to  sit  for  her 
picture. 


A  PICTURE    ON    THE    BALCONY.  89 

Gerald  succeeded  beyond  his  expectation,  at  the  first  sitting; 
but  he  would  not  let  any  one  see  the  picture  until  it  was  com- 
pleted. He  was  entirely  engrossed  by  it,  and  for  a  time  paid 
very  short  visits  to  Ravenswood,  and  really  did  neglect  Edith 
for  his  new  pursuit.  Blanche  was  very  anxious  for  the  time 
to  come,  and  always  came  home  much  delighted,  and  most 
generally  with  some  little  gift  from  Gerald. 

Edith  felt  herself  sadly  aggrieved,  but  her  besetting  sin 
would  not  allow  her  to  let  it  be  seen  ;  for,  much  as  she  suffered 
by  Gerald's  neglect,  she  was  resolved  to  hide  the  misery,  and 
to  appear  indifferent  also.  When  he  came  over,  after  an  ab- 
sence of  several  days,  Edith  received  him  coolly,  and  asked 
him,  in  an  indifferent  way,  how  the  picture  progressed.  He 
saw  the  change  in  her  manner,  and  was  hurt.  He  answered 
in  the  same  tone,  "Very  well,"  and  no  more  passed  between 
them  that  evening.  They  were  both  very  unhappy.  Edith 
was  ashamed  of  her  jealous  feelings,  and  Gerald  felt  that 
she  was  unjust  to  him ;  and  yet  neither  would  make  advances. 
But  Edith  was  too  conscientious  and  Christian  like  to  cherish 
this  state  of  feeling.  When  examining  the  state  of  her  heart 
before  God,  she  perceived  that  the  poison  of  jealousy  had  in- 
fused itself  into  her  secret  feelings.  She  knew  and  mourned 
over  it  as  a  sin  against  God,  and  under  the  guidance  of  the 
blessed  Spirit,  she  cast  it  all  away. 

The  next  day,  when  Gerald  came  over,  she  received  him 
with  her  usual  warmth,  and  when  she  had  an  opportunity,  said, 
"  Forgive  me,  Gerald ;  I  was  unjust  to  you,  but  it  has  all 
passed  away." 

"  I  have  been  to  blame,  also,  Edith  ;  for  I  did  not  seek  an 
explanation,  but  allowed  the  sun  to  go  down  upon  our  wrath," 
said  Gerald.  "  What  was  the  matter?"  he  continued. 

"I  was  foolish  enough,  Gerald,  to  feel  displeased  at  the 
interest  which  you  manifested  in  Blanche,  and  though  I 
am  ashamed  to  tell  you  so,  I  do  it  to  punish  myself  for  the 
folly." 

"You'll  never  feel  so  again,  Edith,  will  you?  Let  our  love 
for  each  other  always  be  distinguished  by  its  perfect  trust," 


90  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

said  Gerald.  "I  don't  think  that  I  could  feel  jealous  of  your 
affection  for  any  one,  for  I  do  trust  you  so  entirely." 

From  this  time  there  were  nc  more  disturbances  about  the 
picture ;  it  went  on  rapidly,  and  Edith  appeared  as  much  inter- 
ested as  Gerald.  After  the  lapse  of  a  few  weeks,  it  was  com- 
pleted, and  Gerald  invited  Edith  over  to  see  his  first  attempt 
at  a  portrait.  It  was  pronounced  by  all  a  grand  success.  It 
was  Blanche  Clifford,  in  all  her  fascinating  loveliness  of  that 
day :  her  smile  was  there,  and  her  beautiful  eyes  seemed  to 
ask  for  love,  from  all  who  looked  upon  the  charming  picture. 
The  sunlight  of  a  summer  afternoon  was  exquisitely  delineated, 
and  increased  the  brilliancy  of  the  portrait,  while  the  sweet 
flowers  which  she  seemed  scattering  around  her,  were  strik- 
ingly emblematical  of  the  bright  period  of  her  young  life. 

"  How  lovely,  and  yet  how  perfect,  is  the  likeness,  Gerald !'' 
exclaimed  Edith ;"  I  think  we  may  predict  your  future  suc- 
cess, if  this  sweet  picture  is  any  indication  of  your  talent.  I 
wish  you  could  visit  the  Continent,  Gerald,  it  would  improve 
you  so  much  ?" 

"  I  hope  for  that  pleasure  some  day,  not  very  far  distant ; 
for  I  can  think  of  being  nothing  else  than  an  artist,  and  I 
wish  for  the  best  advantages." 

The  interest  which  Gerald  felt  in  Blanche,  seemed  to  be 
that  of  an  affectionate  brother,  and  she  looked  to  him  for 
guidance  and  protection  from  teasing  Frank ;  for  though  he 
loved  his  sisters  dearly,  he  rarely  missed  an  opportunity  for  a 
joke. 

Ralph  was  still  an  inmate  of  Oak  Hall.  He  had  discovered 
that  Josephine  possessed  a  powerful  mind,  but  with  his  correct 
perception,  he  regarded  her  talents  as  all  perverted,  so  long 
as  she  aspired  to  masculine  pursuits.  He  scrupled  not,  as  op- 
portunity offered,  to  express  his  views,  and  to  point  out  to  her 
the  more  excellent  ways  of  the  Bible.  She  listened  respect- 
fully, not  because  she  was  convinced,  but  because  she  was 
deeply  interested  in  the  being  who  uttered  these  sentiments, 
and  hoped  at  some  future  day  to  bring  him  round  to  her  way 
of  thinking.  Before  she  was  aware  of  it,  she  found,  much  to 


A   PICTURE   ON    THE   BALCONY.  91 

her  shame  and  mortification,  that  she  had  allowed  Ralph  Cam- 
eron to  occupy  a  place  in  her  affections,  which  she  had  never 
intended  for  any  man.  She  was  not  only  pained  at  the  dis- 
covery, but  angry  with  herself  for  yielding  to  such  a  weakness, 
and  with  Spartan  firmness,  resolved  to  punish  herself  for  such 
folly.  She  kept  aloof  from  Ralph,  shut  herself  up  in  her  own 
room,  treated  him  with  coldness,  sometimes  with  rudeness,  and 
often  mortified  Gerald,  with  the  want  of  decorum  with  which 
she  met  her  brother's  guest.  She  succeeded  in  completely 
deceiving  them  both,  for  they  felt  that  she  utterly  despised 
Ralph  Cameron.  Not  so  with  Aunt  Priscilla  or  Miss  Arnold, 
who  penetrated  her  disguises. 

When  Mrs.  Clifford  would  regret  her  rudeness,  Aunt  Pris- 
cilla would  frequently  say,  "  She's  a  sassy  minx,  but  she  don't 
fool  me.  I  have  seen  her  turn  her  head  away  to  brush  off  a 
tear,  which  would  come  when  she  saw  Ralph  so  taken  up  with 
our  Madge.  She  don't  think  how  I  watch  her.  I  can  see 
through  her." 

To  Madge,  Ralph  was  still  the  same  kind  brother,  checking 
her  waywardness,  directing  her  talents,  calling  out  her  affec- 
tions, and  in  every  way  endeavoring  to  exercise,  a  good  influ- 
ence over  her.  One  summer  afternoon  he  had  traced  her  foot- 
steps to  a  distant  arbor,  very  far  from  the  house,  where,  seated 
at  a  little  table,  she  was  busily  occupied  in  writing,  not  dream- 
ing that  any  one  was  watching  her.  She  had  a  large  portfolio 
before  her,  in  which  lay  many  loose  leaves.  She  would  write 
a  few  lines,  then  read  them  out  loud,  stoop  down,  and  with 
Indian  rubber,  erase  words,  and  write  again.  Then  she  would 
sit  silently,  with  her  expressive  eyes  turned  upward,  as  if  in- 
voking inspiration ;  then  with  a  smile,  as  though  she  had 
caught  a  beautiful  thought  from  the  upper  skies,  she  would 
hastily  transcribe  it  on  her  sheet,  and  then  read  it  again  aloud. 
Ralph  did  not  wish  to  appear  as  a  listener,  and  yet  his  curiosity 
was  so  much  aroused,  that  he  stood  apart,  and  listening  to  the 
singular  child,  he  discovered  that  she  was  writing  most  beauti- 
ful poetry  ;  and  suddenly  presenting  himself  at  the  door  of  the 
arbor,  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  covered  her  blushing  face 


92  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

with  both  hands.  When  Kalph  attempted  to  touch  her  port- 
folio, she  seized  it  violently,  and  exclaimed,  "Oh,  Kalph,  don't 
touch  it.  I  am  so  ashamed  that  you  should  have  heard  me. 
I  can't  bear  you  to  look  at  all  my  foolishness !" 

Ralph  seated  himself  quietly  by  her  side,  and  taking  her 
hand  gently,  he  said,  "  Madge,  am  I  not  your  friend — your 
brother?  Won't  you  let  me  guide  you  in  your  studies?" 

She  burst  into  tears,  and  said,  "But  these  are  not  my  studies ; 
you  would  not  approve  of  them." 

"Will  you  not  let  me  see  them,  Madge?  I  will  not  chide 
you  ;  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  of  them,  and  perhaps  I  can 
help  you  even  here." 

Turning  her  face  to  him,  she  placed  the  portfolio  in  his 
hand,  and  said,  "  Ralph,  you  may  take  them  all,  but  don't 
look  at  them  now ;  I  could  not  bear  to  sit  near  you  if  you 
do." 

"  Perhaps,  Madge,  God  has  endowed  you  with  many  talents ; 
if  so,  they  must  all  be  used  for  his  glory ;  for  remember,  that 
for  all  we  must  render  up  a  strict  account.  If  you  will  let  me 
look  into  your  heart,  I  may  be  able  to  direct  you."  Then 
turning  the  subject,  he  conversed  cheerfully  with  the  young 
girl  for  a  few  minutes,  and  rising,  they  walked  for  a  long  time 
in  their  favorite  path,  which  lay  along  the  beautiful  river,  in 
view  of  the  most  romantic  scenery  of  the  Hudson.  Returning 
about  tea-time,  Madge  flew  up  to  her  room  to  muse  and  wonder 
at  the  kindness  of  Ralph  Cameron ;  and  he,  with  his  portfolio, 
retired  to  read  over  the  loose  leaves  of  the  curious  collection. 
There  were  many  papers  which  were  abstracts  of  her  studies, 
exhibiting  great  clearness  of  thought,  and  intelligent  remarks ; 
others  were  sketches — some  of  character,  showing  great  dis- 
cernment, and  some  fancy  sketches,  displaving  a  vivid  imagi- 
nation. There  were  also  some  beautiful  fragments  of  poetry ; 
but  the  most  curious  and  interesting  of  all  was  her  journal, 
where  her  thoughts  and  feelings  were  freely  expressed.  Below, 
we  will  give  a  few  extracts  : 

"Saturday. — This  is  a  stormy  day.  The  wind  blows  almost 
a  hurricane ;  the  river  is  dark  and  troubled ;  the  boats  are 


A  PICTURE   ON    THE  BALCONY.  93 

tossing  about  on  the  high  waves,  and  the  vessels  are  rocking  to 
and  fro;  the  trees  are  cracking,  and  the  branches  are  flying 
wildly  about ;  the  water-fowls  are  screaming  in  the  air,  and  the 
land  animals  are  terrified  by  the  war  of  the  elements,  running 
to  and  fro  for  shelter;  and  yet  I  like  it  all,  for  sometimes  I  feel  as 
if  there  was  just  such  a  strife  in  me.  Why  am  I  so  different 
from  my  sisters  ? — they  are  all  merriment  and  glee,  and  I  am 
always  sad.  I  like  stormy  days,  wild  stories,  and  gloomy 
pictures  ;  and  then  it  seems  so  beautiful  when  the  storm  is  over, 
fc>  watch  the  waves  subsiding,  the  clouds  rolling  away,  the  sun 
struggling  amid  the  murky  sky,  until,  at  last,  the  storm  at  an. 
end,  there  is  perfect  peace.  Will  it  be  so  with  me  ?  When 
the  strife  in  my  bosom  is  over,  will  there  be  peace  at  last?  I 
cannot  see  that  it  will  be  so,  for  my  heart  is  the  seat  of  too 
much  disorder,  to  hope  for  rest  while  it  is  unchanged. 

"  Sunday. — I  have  been  to  church  to-day.  I  tried  to  wor- 
ship God,  but  I  could  not.  My  heart  was  wandering  all  over 
the  earth.  I  felt  no  penitence.  I  have  no  faith,  no  love  to 
God,  nor  for  my  fellow-creatures,  for  they  do  not  love  me. 
Only  lialph  loves  me  ;  and  though  I  am  so  ugly  and  unamia- 
ble,  he  is  always  kind,  and  never  turns  away  from  poor  Madge. 
May  God  bless  him  for  his  goodness. 

"Monday. — What  a  dreadful  day  it  has  been !  I  have  been 
perverse,  passionate,  disobedient.  I  determined  that  I  would 
try  to  be  better ;  but  as  soon  as  a  temptation  in  the  school-room 
beset  me,  I  yielded,  and  fell  into  great  sin.  There  is  no  use  in 
my  trying  to  be  good.  What  can  be  the  reason  ? 

"Tuesday. — Miss  Arnold  was  very  gentle  to-day.  She  never 
loses  her  patience  with  me,  and  mamma  is  always  kind,  but 
she  does  not  love  me  as  she  does  Edith,  who  is  so  very  good, 
and  Blanche  so  beautiful,  and  Adele  so  bewitching;  no  wonder 
she  loves  them  better  ;  but  God  made  me  as  I  am,  and  I  think 
that  they  ought  to  remember  that.  I  felt  sullen  and  unhappy, 
and  stole  away  to  my  garret,  with  ray  favorite,  Shakespeare. 
How  much  he  knew  of  the  feelings  of  the  human  heart.  I 
wonder  what  he  would  think  of  me  ?  I  should  not  wish  him  to 
draw  my  picture.  I  fear  that  it  would  have  been  a  frowning, 


94  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

homely  girl,  always  discontented  and  unhappy.  If  St.  Paul 
should  show  me  my  likeness,  I  wonder  what  he  would  write? 
I  know  that  I  am  a  strange  girl,  and  not  at  all  like  any  other. 
I  don't  know  one  that  feels  as  I  do.  Nobody  understands  or 
pities  me  but  Ralph  ;  and  yet  he  never  flatters  me,  he  always 
tells  me  truth.  A  word  from  him  or  a  look  from  his  eagle  eye, 
tames  my  proud  spirit  at  once. 

"  Wednesday. — What  a  bright  beautiful  day !  All  the  land- 
scape smiles,  the  sunbeams  dance  upon  the  beautiful  Hudson, 
and  everything  seems  joyous  ;  even  I  feel  happier  to-day.  Miss 
Arnold  commended  me  for  my  lessons.  She  laid  her  hand  so 
kindly  on  my  head,  and  kissed  me  so  affectionately  as  she  said, 
'  Madge,  you  have  been  a  dear  girl  to-day,'  that  I  felt  the  tears 
come  into  my  eyes,  but  I  could  not  let  her  see  them.  Why  ? 
Am  I  too  proud?  In  the  evening  Ralph  asked  me  to  walk  on 
the  bank  of  the  river.  I  went  so  cheerfully,  and  we  had  such  a 
pleasant  walk.  He  seems  to  understand  all  about  me,  and 
said,  '  Madge,  it  has  been  a  bright  day,  has  it  not  ?'  I  knew 
•what  he  meant.  He  did  not  only  refer  to  the  sky  above,  but  to 
the  world  within.  I  smiled  as  I  said,  '  How  do  you  know  it, 
Ralph  ?'  He  answered,  '  I  have  only  to  look  at  your  face, 
Madge,  and  I  know  all  about  it.'  Then  he  told  me  how  I  might 
always  have  peace  within,  if  I  was  only  a  real  child  of  God. 
Oh !  Ralph,  shall  I  ever  be  what  you  desire  ? 

"  Thursday. — I  went  into  the  school-room  this  morning  with 
good  determinations.  Blanche  was  provoking,  Adele  made  fun 
of  me.  I  became  angry,  and  said  something  very  passionate. 
Adele  turned  towards  me,  and  said,  'Remember  poor  little 
Lilly,  Madge ;  your  temper  has  destroyed  her  happiness  for 
life.'  Oh !  the  cruel  speech !  when  I  have  so  deeply  repented 
of  that  dreadful  act.  It  is  that  which  has  cast  such  a  deep 
shadow  over  my  whole  life ;  and  when  my  own  sister  can  be  so 
unjust,  and  unfeeling,  what  is  the  use  of  my  trying  to  do  right? 
I  receive  no  encouragement,  and  only  excite  dislike.  I'll  shut 
my  heart  again.  It  shall  open  to  none  but  Ralph.  I  cannot 
pray,  I  feel  so  hardened.  What  is  to  become  of  me? 

"Friday. — We  were  all  in  the  garden  this  afternoon.    Every- 


A   PICTURE   ON    THE   BALCONY.  95 

body  seemed  happy ;  even  I  felt  lively,  for  Ralph  was  so  kind 
as  to  play  graces  with  me :  the  air  was  so  delightful,  the  sun  so 
bright,  and  the  flowers  so  beautiful.  Blanche  was  full  of  mirth. 
She  ran  up  on  the  balcony  in  her  sportiveness,  and  there  she 
stood  in  her  pure  white  dress,  decorated  with  a  wreath  of  sweet 
roses.  How  lovely  she  looked !  I  thought  of  the  bright  angels 
when  I  gazed  at  her.  Gerald  was  so  struck,  that  he  made  her 
stand  still,  while  he  sketched  the  picture.  Ralph  was  enrap- 
tured, and  I  thought,  with  a  sigh,  what  a  charming  gift  beauty 
is  ;  but  Ralph  turned  around,  and  reading  my  thoughts,  said, 
with  one  of  his  kindest  smiles,  '  Blanche  is  beautiful  to  look  at; 
but  it  is  better  to  be  good  and  holy.  All  cannot  be  beautiful, 
but  all  can  love  and  serve  God.  Don't  court  beauty,  Madge, 
only  seek  for  goodness.'  What  can  be  the  matter?  Edith  did 
not  seem  pleased  with  the  picture  on  the  balcony.  I  wonder  if 
she  is  jealous  ?  If  she  is  tormented  by  this  feeling,  when  she 
is  so  good,  I  need  not  be  discouraged. 

"  Saturday. — The  summer  vacation  is  drawing  to  a  close. 
Ralph  will  soon  go  away.  I  wonder  if  Josephine  dislikes  him. 
She  keeps  out  of  his  way,  she  never  speaks  to  him,  but  I  think 
she  can't  dislike  him.  I  suppose  that  he  has  spoken  the  truth 
to  her,  and  she  don't  fancy  that;  but  she  must  respect  him. 
What  shall  I  do  when  Ralph  is  gone  ?  I'll  try  to  do  as  he 
wishes  me  to.  He  has  given  me  a  number  of  rules;  they  are 
all  for  my  good.  I  cannot  disobey  him,  he  is  so  firm  and  un- 
yielding, and  yet  he  is  always  so  kind.  What  a  blessing  to 
have  such  a  friend  !  and  I  only  a  little  girl  of  fourteen.  Shall  I 
ever  love  God  as  he  wishes  me  to  do  ?  Shall  I  ever  overcome 
my  evil  temper,  and  be  meek  and  lowly?  How  strange  it 
would  sound  to  hear  it  said  that  perverse,  passionate  Madge  Clif- 
ford, had  become  an  humble  follower  of  the  blessed  Saviour; 
and  yet  I  hope  that  I  shall  be  just  what  he  desires." 

Ralph  read  this  artless  journal  with  feelings  of  deep  interest. 
It  gave  him  increasing  insight  into  the  inner  life  of  Madge 
Clifford,  and  confirmed  all  his  opinions  of  her  character.  He 
saw  a  strong  mind,  with  an  equally  strong  will ;  warm  affec- 
tions, and  a  conscience  tenderly  alive  to  sin,  but  yet  uneu- 


9(j  EDITH  S   MINISTRY. 

lightened  as  to  the  means  of  deliverance.  He  also  perceived 
talents  of  such  a  brilliant  character,  that  lie  was  assured,  if 
only  directed  into  a  proper  channel,  would  make  her  a  noble, 
useful  woman. 

The  next  day  he  called  her  aside,  and  restored  her  portfolio. 
"  Madge,  the  contents  are  sacred.  I  see  your  struggles,  my 
child,  but  must  remind  you  that  in  your  own  unassisted 
strength,  you  will  find  your  passions  always  the  conqueror; 
but  if  you  meet  them  in  the  panoply  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  you 
will  overcome  them  all,  and  come  off  more  than  victorious.  I 
leave  you  soon,  my  dear  child,  but  let  me  beg  of  you,  Madge, 
to  seek  for  strength  where  it  can  only  be  found, — at  the  feet 
of  our  blessed  Saviour.  In  daily  communion  with  him,  you 
will  learn  blessed  lessons  of  humility  and  love,  and  will  at  last 
find  rest  for  your  tempted  spirit." 

She  raised  her  tearful  eyes  to  the  young  man's  face,  and  said, 
"Thank  you,  Ralph,  for  all  your  goodness  to  me.  I  shall 
never  forget  it,  and  will  try  to  follow  your  advice." 

In  a  few  days,  the  young  men  had  all  returned  to  college 
Life  at  Ravenswood  went  on  as  usual,  with  the  exception  that 
Mrs.  Clifford's  state  of  health  became  more  alarming,  and  her 
physician  ordered  her  in  the  autumn  to  Magnolia,  to  try  the 
effect  of  treatment  and  climate  on  her  declining  strength. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE    FAMILY    CHAIN    BROKEN. 

O  A  HOUSEHOLD  united  by  such  tender  ties,  the 
sight  of  the  preparations  which  now  began  to  be 
made  for  a  first  separation  was  peculiarly  pain- 
ful. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clifford,  with  Lilly,  Emily,  and 
her  nurse,  were  to  set  off  in  October,  as  the  physi- 
cian had  declared  that  another  winter  at  the  North 
would  be  perilous  in  the  extreme.  It  was  a  great 
trial  to  the  affectionate  mother;  but  regarding  it 
as  a  solemn  duty  to  preserve  her  health  for  the  sake  of  her 
dear  ones,  and  knowing  that  she  could  safely  leave  her  older 
children  in  the  care  of  Miss  Arnold,  she  made  her  arrange- 
ments with  a  cheerful  spirit,  and  perfect  trust  in  her  kind 
Heavenly  Father. 

They  were  to  take  a  steamer  to  Charleston,  and  thence  pro- 
ceed to  Florida,  where  they  were  to  spend  the  winter.  All 
their  preparations  being  completed,  on  the  night  before  their 
departure,  Mrs.  Clifford  gathered  her  family  in  her  sitting-room, 
and  there  commended  them,  in  true  Christian  faith,  to  the 
covenant-keeping  care  of  her  God  and  her  Saviour.  It  seemed 
as  though  an  angel  of  peace  was  hovering  over  the  family 
circle,  singing  sweet  hymns  of  cheerfulness.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
the  sheltering  arms  of  a  gracious  Father  were  beneath  them, 
and  Mrs.  Clifford  felt  their  strong  support. 

Early  in  the  morning,  the  carriage  was  at  the  door,  ready 
7  97 


98  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

to  convey  the  travellers  to  New  York.  The  tender  mother 
almost  fainted  beneath  the  pain  of  parting;  for  although 
her  faith  was  strong,  her  bodily  strength  was  feeble,  and  the 
sight  of  her  weeping  children  and  servants  almost  unnerved 
her. 

"  Farewell,  Edith !"  said  her  mother,  as  folding  her  in  her 
arms,  she  tenderly  embraced  her ;  "  be  a  second  mother  to  your 
dear  sisters.  "We  know  not  how  soon  you  may  be  called  to  fill 
my  place." 

"  Dear  mother,  do  not  say  so,"  answered  Edith. 

Kissing  Madge  affectionately,  Mrs.  Clifford  bade  her  to  be 
obedient  to  Miss  Arnold,  and  loving  to  her  sisters.  To  Blanche 
and  Adele,  she  gave  her  parting  charge,  with  a  mother's  fond 
affection. 

Aunt  Priscilla  stood  aside,  wiping  her  eyes,  for  she  dearly 
loved  her  nephew's  gentle  wife.  "  I  shall  go  soon,  Mary,  for 
I  cannot  bear  to  stay  without  you ;  but  do  be  careful  of  your- 
Belf,  and  don't  forget  the  bottle  of  black  drops,  when  you  are 
nervous." 

Uncle  Peter  came  forward,  and  respectfully  taking  his  mis- 
tress's hand,  kissed  it  reverently,  and  said  in  a  devout  manner, 
"  The  Lord  bless  you,  and  keep  you,  my  dear,  good  Missis,  and 
bring  you  safe  and  sound  to  us  all  again." 

Mr.  Clifford,  not  wishing  to  prolong  the  painful  scene,  took 
an  affectionate  leave  of  all  his  children,  and  giving  fresh 
charges  to  Miss  Arnold  and  Edith,  he  handed  his  wife  into  the 
first  carriage,  who  sank  back  exhausted  upon  the  seat.  With 
another  wave  of  his  hand  to  those  who  stood  watching  on  the 
front  piazza,  the  carriage,  followed  by  another,  containing 
the  children  and  their  nurse,  drove  off,  and  were  soon  out  of 
sight. 

The  house  appeared  very  desolate  without  the  beloved 
parents,  and  it  required  all  Edith's  self-control  to  return  cheer- 
fully to  her  duties.  Mr.  Clifford  was  a  most  devoted,  affectionate 
husband,  preserving  for  his  interesting  wife  all  that  warmth 
of  attachment  which  had  characterized  his  youthful  days. 
Nor  was  it  very  wonderful ;  for  lovely  as  she  was  by  nature, 


THE   FAMILY   CHAIN   BROKEN.  99 

she  had  taken  great  pains  to  make  his  home  a  blessed  haven 
of  repose,  by  those  nameless  attentions  to  his  comfort,  and  the 
careful  observation  of  all  those  little  graceful  proprieties  which 
impart  so  many  charms  to  the  young  bride.  She  had  wisely 
judged,  that  what  was  esteemed  so  charming  in  the  young  girl, 
was  doubly  necessary  in  the  intimate  relations  of  husband  and 
wife  ;  consequently,  she  was  always  neat,  and  ready  to  receive 
her  husband  as  a  refined  lady,  and  never  annoyed  him  with 
those  domestic  details,  with  which  many  wives  entertain  their 
wearied  husbands. 

As  he  looked  at  her  faded  form  and  languid  countenance, 
his  heart  sank  within  him  at  the  thought  of  perhaps  soon 
being  compelled  to  resign  this  dearly  cherished  wife  to  the 
cold  and  silent  grave.  Seating  himself  by  her  side,  and 
drawing  heF  fragile  figure  nearer  to  him,  while  she  leaned  her 
head  upon  his  shoulder,  he  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  pale  lips, 
and  mentally  resolved,  that  so  long  as  life  should  beat  in  that 
bosom,  he  would  cherish  and  defend  her  from  all  evil,  and 
spare  no  pains  or  expense,  if  by  any  means  a  life  so  dear  could 
be  prolonged. 

"  I  feel  great  hopes  for  you,  dear  Mary,  now  that  we  really 
have  cut  loose  from  family  cares,  and  are  about  to  seek  such 
a  genial  climate,"  said  her  husband. 

"  I  am  willing,  George,  that  God  should  do  just  as  he 
pleases  with  me,  though  I  own  that  Ravenswood  has  many 
links  to  bind  me  to  the  earth,  and  if  God  should  deem  it  best, 
I  should  wish  to  live  for  my  children's  sake;"  and  as  she 
said  this,  she  raised  her  soft  blue  eyes  to  her  husband's  face, 
while  they  beamed  upon  him  an  expression  of  unutterable 
love. 

He  stooped  over  the  beloved  wife,  and  throwing  aside  the 
clustering  ringlets,  with  a  soft  caress,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
fair  forehead. 

"  You  have  been  a  dear,  kind  husband  to  me,"  she  con- 
tinued ;  "  well  have  you  redeemed  your  marriage  vow.  There 
is  but  one  thing,  dearest,  that  I  could  wish  otherwise,  and  that 
is,  that  I  could  see  you  living  the  life  and  enjoying  the  hopes 


100  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

of  a  real  Christian.  I  cannot  bear  the  thoughts  of  eternal 
separation  ;  and  you  know,  my  husband,  that  you  are  as  yet 
living  without  God  in  this  world." 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,  Mary ;  I  hope  to  turn  my  attention 
some  day  to  religion.  If  anything  could  win  me,  I  think  it 
would  be  your  sweet  example,  wife." 

Thus  continued  this  communion  of  hearts,  until  they  reached 
New  York,  where  they  found  their  good  pastor,  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Berkely,  waiting  for  them.  He  had  come  down  for  the  kind 
purpose  of  seeing  their  embarkation,  and  while  waiting  at  the 
hotel  for  the  hour  of  departure,  he  fervently  commended  the 
party  to  the  protecting  care  of  their  Heavenly  Father. 

They  went  on  board  the  steamer  in  the  afternoon.  The 
passage  down  the  splendid  bay  of  New  York  was  glorious.  It 
was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  evenings  of  autumn.  The  re- 
flection of  the  glowing  sunset  on  the  water  was  magnificent, 
and  the  scenery  all  along  the  shore  was  interesting.  The 
whole  landscape  spoke  of  peace  and  hope.  After  a  short  and 
pleasant  voyage,  they  soon  found  themselves  comfortably  sit- 
uated for  the  winter,  at  Magnolia. 

Mrs.  Clifford  enjoyed  the  companionship  of  little  Lilly,  for 
she  was  a  sweet,  thoughtful  child,  and  being  tenderly  attached 
to  her  mother,  was  a  great  comfort.  She  heard  frequently 
from  home,  and  the  accounts  were  such  as  lulled  her  anxieties 
to  rest.  The  mild  climate,  the  peculiar  treatment,  and  her 
entire  rest,  acted  favorably  upon  her  disease,  and  she  was 
evidently  better  than  she  had  been  for  many  years.  There 
was  even  an  increase  of  flesh,  and  the  lily  of  her  cheek  gave 
place  to  the  more  delicate  tints  of  the  rose.  Her  strength 
evidently  improved,  and  Mr.  Clifford,  upon  consultation  with 
physicians  at  Magnolia,  finally  concluded  on  removing  with  his 
family  in  the  spring  to  Europe,  to  stay  a  couple  of  years, 
spending  their  winters  in  the  south  of  France.  He  wrote 
home  to  that  effect,  saying  that  they  would  return  early  in 
May,  and  bidding  them  make  all  necessary  arrangements  for 
their  departure  to  the  Continent. 

The  winter  had  passed  rapidly,  for  the  family  at  Ravens- 


THE    FAMILY   CHAIN    BROKEN.  101 

wood  had  all  been  very  busy,  and  although  nothing  could 
compensate  for  the  absence  of  their  parents,  still  constant 
occupation  prevented  them  from  suffering  much  of  loneliness. 
The  young  men  spent  their  Christmas  vacation  with  them, 
which  lasted  about  two  weeks.  Gerald  still  appeared  devoted 
to  Edith,  Ralph  the  kind  friend  of  Madge,  and  Frank  lively 
as  ever. 

One  bright  December  morning,  Frank  came  running  into 
the  breakfast-room,  brimful  of  a  party  of  pleasure  which  he 
had  in  view. 

"  What  say  you,  girls,  to  a  sleigh-ride  ?  There  has  been  a 
splendid  fall  of  snow,  and  it  would  be  delightful  to  run  down 
as  far  as  New  York.  Aunt  Morris  would  be  glad  to  see  us ; 
we  could  stay  a  couple  of  nights,  see  some  of  the  sights  of  the 
great  city,  and  then  return  home." 

Seeing  that  Miss  Arnold  looked  disapproval,  he  turned  to 
her  and  said  : 

"  Now,  dear,  good  Miss  Arnold,  don't  object.  I  have  per- 
mission from  my  father  for  just  such  an  excursion.  I  wrote  in 
time,  hoping  for  snow,  and  I  think  we  had  better  take  advant- 
age of  it."  Running  to  get  his  letter,  he  brought  it  to  her, 
that  she  might  read  for  herself. 

Full  of  the  projected  sport,  Frank  brought  out  their  own 
and  Gerald's  sleighs,  and  warmly  clad,  with  light  and  merry 
hearts,  they  started  for  a  ride  of  about  fifteen  miles.  The 
morning  was  bright  and  exhilarating.  Bruno  made  one  of  the 
party,  and  safely  lodged  at  his  master's  feet,  he  enjoyed  the 
winter's  ride  as  much  as  the  rest.  Their  road  lay  through  a 
picturesque  part  of  the  country ;  and  although  it  was  winter, 
yet  the  bright  sunny  sky,  the  snow-roofed  houses,  and  the 
glittering  icicles,  pendent  from  the  wintry-shrouded  trees,  all 
had  a  beauty  of  their  own.  Even  Madge  was  delighted,  and 
as  she  sat  chatting  with  Ralph,  really  looked  happy,  and  some- 
times almost  pretty. 

When  they  reached  the  ferry,  they  sent  the  sleigh  back 
again,  fearing  that  a  sudden  change  might  prevent  their  re- 
turn in  the  same  way.  Taking  carriages  on  the  other  side, 


102  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

they  started  for  Mrs.  Morris's  splendid  mansion.  She  re- 
ceived them  with  delight,  and  almost  insisted  that  they  should 
all  stay  at  her  house ;  but  Josephine,  Gerald  and  Ralph  per- 
ferred  a  hotel,  promising  to  return  early  in  the  evening. 

Jn  the  meanwhile  a  party  was  arranged  for  the  theatre.  To 
Edith's  surprise,  Frank  announced  his  intention  of  going. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  to  go  to  the  theatre  ?"  asked  Edith. 

"  Why  not,  sister  ?"  replied  Frank. 

"Because  you  know  dear  mamma's  opinion  about  such 
places  of  amusement." 

"  But,  Edith,  father  thinks  differently.  He  says  that  I  will 
never  be  a  man,  if  I  do  not  see  something  of  the  world,  and 
he  has  given  me  permission  to  go." 

When  they  assembled  after  tea,  Ralph,  Gerald,  and  Edith 
declined ;  at  which  Mrs.  Morris  quietly  sneered.  Madge  was 
very  anxious  to  see  the  personification  of  some  of  her  favorite 
characters,  and  as  Hamlet  was  the  play  for  the  evening,  she 
wished  especially  to  go.  Blanche  and  Adele  had  heard  such 
glowing  accounts,  from  'their  young  cousins,  about  the  charms 
of  the  stage,  that  they  were  scarcely  to  be  denied,  as  they 
hung  around  Edith,  begging  for  permission  to  partake  of  the 
pleasure.  When  they  were  alone,  Adele  said : 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Blanche,  I  think  it's  a  shame  that 
Edith  is  allowed  to  direct  us ;  she  is  not  so  much  older.  I 
wish  that  we  could  go  without  her  knowledge." 

Blanche  listened,  desiring  the  same  thing,  but  had  not  cour- 
age enough  to  express  it. 

Josephine  had  observed  Madge's  anxiety  to  partake  of  the 
amusement,  and  when  she  left  the  room,  followed  Madge,  and 
knocking  at  her  door,  said  : 

"Madge,  let  me  in.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  of 
great  importance." 

She  opened  the  door,  and  Josephhine,  looking  around,  said, 
in  a  whisper, — 

"  Can  any  one  hear  ?" 

"  There  is  no  danger,"  answered  Madge,  "  speak  on." 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  with  us  to-night  ?" 


THE   FAMILY   CHAIN    BROKEN.  103 

"  I  do,"  replied  the  young  girl. 

"  Then  you  shall  go.  I  don't  see  why  an  older  sister  should 
be  allowed  to  rule  you  so  entirely." 

Josephine  had  often  looked  on,  and  determined,  if  it  was  pos- 
sible, to  bring  Madge  out  of  what  she  called  "  the  house  of 
bondage."  She  appreciated  her  talents,  and  wished  to  imbue 
her  with  some  of  her  own  spirit. 

"  Would  you  go  without  Edith's  knowledge  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  I  can." 

"  Well,  then,  listen  to  me,"  said  Josephine.  "  The  three 
saints — Ralph,  Edith,  and  Gerald — are  going  to-night  to  a 
concert.  They  will  want  you  to  go.  Pretend  to  be  sick,  and 
I  will  manage  all  the  rest.  We  will  start  before  they  do.  I 
will  direct  the  waiter  to  bring  you  around  to  the  north  door, 
and  Frank  will  come  there  to  meet  you." 

"  I  will  do  all  but  the  pretending.  I  contend  that  I  have  a 
right  to  guide  my  own  actions.  I  will  just  say  I  don't  want  to 
go,  and  the  girls  will  stay  at  home  to  keep  me  company." 

"  We  will  outwit  them  this  time,  won't  we,  Madge?  and  you 
shall  have  the  treat ;  besides,  there  is  no  great  harm  done. 
Your  father  does  not  object,  if  your  mother  does ;  and,  accord- 
ing to  her  own  theory,  he  ia  the  master,  and  ought  to  be 
obeyed." 

Although  Madge  had  resolved  to  go,  her  conscience  could 
not  yield  to  this  sophistry,  when  she  remembered  the  pale  face 
of  her  absent  mother,  and  felt  the  power  of  her  mild  reproving 
eye. 

After  tea,  Edith  proposed  the  concert  to  the  party.  Madge 
quietly  declined;  and  Blanche  and  Adele,  who  were  in  the 
secret,  declared  their  intention  of  remaining  at  home  with 
Mudge.  Edith  was  not  surprised,  as  she  so  frequently  declined 
invitations  with  her  sisters. 

The  party  for  the  theatre  started  first,  then  the  others  to  the 
concert ;  and  in  a  few  minutes,  the  thoughtless  girls  were  ready 
to  accompany  the  servant,  who  was  waiting  for  them  in  the 
hall.  A  short  and  hurried  walk  brought  them  to  the  theatre, 
where  Frank  was  awaiting  them. 


104  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  Well,  little  sisters,  this  is  grand  fun ;  you  shall  have  one 
merry  night  at  least." 

Madge  began  to  feel  uncomfortable,  as  she  wondered  what 
Ralph  would  think  of  her  conduct;  but  determined  on  gratify- 
ing her  desires,  she  silenced  the  voice  of  conscience. 

When  they  entered  the  theatre,  they  were  perfectly  be- 
wildered and  dazzled :  the  glittering  lights — the  brilliant 
costumes — the  music — all  enchanted  them  ;  but  when  the  cur- 
tain arose,  they  were  spell-bound  ;  especially  Frank  and  Madge, 
who  had  never  dreamed  of  half  of  the  enchantment.  In  the 
excitement  of  the  evening,  conscience  was  completely  lulled  to 
sleep;  but  when  all  was  over,  they  had  been  too  long  and  faith- 
fully taught  not  to  feel  the  evil  of  their  conduct,  and  to  dread 
a  meeting  with  Edith.  The  pleasure  of  the  evening,  intoxi- 
cating as  it  had  been,  was  more  than  counter-balanced  by  the 
reproaches  of  the  monitor  within,  now  awakening  to  accuse 
them  of  their  guilt. 

Edith  arrived  before  them.  On  inquiring  for  her  sisters, 
she  was  told  that  they  had  gone  out ;  and  not  being  able  to  ob- 
tain any  satisfaction  from  the  servants,  she  had  to  wait  in  anx- 
ious suspense,  not  knowing  what  to  think.  Half  past  ten 
o'clock  arrived,  and  no  tidings ;  eleven  came,  and  still  no  news. 

The  family  had  not  yet  arrived.  When  the  bell  rang,  Edith 
heard  the  door  open,  and  thought  that  she  distinguished  Adele's 
voice  among  the  party.  To  her  utter  amazement,  all  entered 
the  parlor  together.  Madge  first  presented  herself. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  Madge  ?"  said  Edith. 

"  I  have  been  to  the  theatre,"  answered  the  young  girl,  in  a 
defiant  tone. 

Blanche  looked  timid  and  alarmed,  and  shrank  behind 
Frank.  Adele  tried  to  laugh  at  the  joke.  Ralph  seemed 
cold  and  displeased,  Gerald  grieved ;  and  Edith,  in  a  sorrowful 
tone,  said,  "  Frank,  how  could  you  do  so  ?  You  know  our 
dear  mother's  wishes  on  these  subjects  ;  and  placed  as  they 
have  been  under  my  care,  it  is  teaching  them  a  sad  lesson  of 
disobedience  and  deceit. 

"  I  think  that  you  regard  it  in  a  manner  much  too  serious," 


THE    FAMILY    CHAIN    BROKEN.  105 

replied  Frank  ;  "  the  girls  never  have  had  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  such  an  entertainment ;  and  as  father  does  not  dis- 
approve of  it,  I  can't  see  that  they  have  done  any  wrong 
under  my  care." 

Ralph  avoided  Madge ;  for  while  he  had  confidence  in  her 
truth,  he  hoped  for  better  things  from  her ;  but  now  that  she 
had  manifestly  departed  from  that  straight  path,  he  was  deeply 
disappointed.  Madge  was  miserable,  for  the  friendship  of 
Kalph  Cameron  was  her  greatest  earthly  comfort ;  and  to  lose 
that,  would  be  to  lose  her  last  hope.  When  she  returned  to 
her  room,  she  thought  over  all  her  conduct ;  but  having  lis- 
tened to  the  injurious  teachings  of  Josephine  Fortescue,  won- 
dered if  she  was  not  wise  enough  to  judge  for  herself.  Her 
proud  heart  began  to  rise  up  even  against  Ralph,  and  to  long 
for  that  liberty  of  action  which  she  saw  Josephine  enjoying. 
And  yet,  when  she  remembered  all  his  generous  kindness, 
she  could  not  but  long  for  a  reconciliation ;  and  ere  she  slept 
that  night,  she  resolved  to  seek  Ralph  next  day,  and  explain 
her  conduct. 

At  an  early  hour  on  the  following  morning,  Josephine 
called,  and  when  she  saw  the  state  of  things,  was  very  well 
satisfied  ;  for  she  determined,  if  possible,  to  produce  an  estrange- 
ment between  the  two.  They  talked  over  the  affair  of  the 
evening  before. 

"Surely,  Madge,"  said  Josephine,  "you  are  not  going  to  ask 
pardon  of  that  proud  Pharisee  ?  What  right  has  he  to  govern 
your  actions?  If  you  do,  you  will  greatly  demean  yourself; 
and  as  to  Edith,  she  is  only  your  sister.  You  have  as  good  a 
right  as  she,  to  seek  your  own  pleasures." 

The  poison  sank  deep  into  her  proud  heart,  and  she  began 
to  dream  of  independence  and  female  rights.  Ralph  called 
after  breakfast,  and  evidently  sought  an  opportunity  to  speak 
to  Madge;  she  avoided  his  eye, answered  him  in  monosyllables, 
and  wounded  his  noble  heart.  She  was  but  fifteen  years  old 
now,  but  there  was  about  the  young  girl  a  strength  of  deter- 
mination and  resentment,  that  illy  became  one  so  young,  and 
which  we  seldom  see  in  woman,  at  even  a  mature  age.  She 


106  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

had  allowed  the  evil  spirit  to  gain  the  mastery.  Ralph's 
influence  was  weakened  by  the  power  of  a  disappointed 
woman,  and  under  the  mistaken  idea  of  independence,  Madge 
was  throwing  away  a  friend  that  had  proved  himself  a  brother 
indeed. 

Edith's  spirit  was  deeply  saddened.  She  saw  how  Madge 
and  Frank  had  been  affected  by  their  new  pleasure.  She 
dreaded  the  results  on  such  natures,  and  deeply  lamented  the 
increasing  power  of  Josephine  Fortescue.  Under  these  adverse 
circumstances,  a  visit  commenced  under  such  sunny  skies  had 
been  clouded  by  these  worldly  associations.  She  longed  for 
her  quiet  home,  and  on  the  third  day,  they  started  for  a  return 
to  Ravenswood.  They  could  scarcely  realize  the  change  in 
their  feelings.  The  sky  was  still  cloudless,  but  the  voice  of 
merriment  was  hushed.  Edith  was  sad  at  the  thought  of  her 
sister's  departure  from  duty;  Frank  was  vexed  because  she 
was  depressed ;  Gerald  sympathized  with  her  feelings ;  Ralph 
and  Madge  were  estranged ;  Josephine  rejoiced  maliciously  ; 
Blanche  and  Adele  were  ashamed,  and  the  whole  party  very 
wretched.  Miss  Arnold  soon  perceived  that  much  was  amiss, 
and  on  discovering  the  whole  affair,  endeavored  to  set  it  before 
them  in  its  true  light.  When  she  understood  the  part  which 
Josephine  had  taken,  she  was  more  than  ever  distressed  at  the 
intimacy,  especially  between  her  and  Madge,  which  now  be- 
came closer  than  ever. 

The  rest  of  the  vacation  was  spent  sadly,  for  Madge  with- 
stood all  Ralph's  advances  to  his  former  brotherly  relations ; 
and,  misled  by  Josephine,  she  endeavored  to  appear  indepen- 
dent, but  had  too  much  feeling  not  to  be  miserable.  Once 
more,  during  the  holidays,  Frank  rode  down  to  New  York  to 
go  again  to  the  theatre.  He  seemed  captivated,  and  was  often 
heard,  when  alone,  reciting  from  Shakespeare,  and  was  com- 
pletely engrossed  by  the  fascinating  amusement.  Edith  parted 
from  the  young  men  sadly.  She  trembled  for  Frank,  missed 
the  sweet  sympathy  of  Gerald,  and  grieved  to  see  how  coldly 
Madge  bade  Ralph  farewell,  although  she  saw  that  it  cost  the 
poor  misguided  girl  a  bitter  struggle.  She  had  one  blessed 


THE   FAMILY   CHAIN   BROKEN.  107 

refuge  at  a  throne  of  grace,  and  there  she  brought  all  dear 
ones ;  and  as  she  named  them  one  by  one  to  her  Heavenly 
Father,  hoped  that  Divine  grace  would  rescue  them  all  at  last 
from  the  deep  dark  prison-house  of  inbred  sin. 

During  the  winter,  she  heard  frequently  from  her  mother. 
Accounts  were  encouraging;  and  when  the  news  reached  them 
that  they  were  to  commence  making  preparations  for  a  removal 
to  Europe  in  May,  the  household  was  consequently  in  a  great 
state  of  excitement.  All  were  pleased  with  the  idea  of  a  visit 
to  the  Continent ;  as  it  was  proposed  that  they  should  travel, 
through  the  summer,  and  spend  the  winter  in  the  south  of 
France.  Edith  was  grieved  at  the  thought  of  losing  Gerald, 
and  Madge  cared  not  where  she  went,  as  she  felt  that  she  had 
lost  Kalph  Cameron's  friendship,  and  it  mattered  not  where 
she  dwelt.  The  bright  chain  of  harmony  seemed  broken. 
When  alone,  musing  over  the  past,  Madge  frequently  asked 
who  had  first  snapped  the  links.  Sometimes  her  heart  whis- 
pered, "Is  it  Josephine?"  and  yet  she  had  grown  so  des- 
perate under  the  certainty  that  she  had  finally  lost  Ralph's 
friendship,  that  she  gave  herself  up  completely  to  the  guidance 
of  her  new  friend. 

Edith  felt  also  the  snapping  of  the  golden  links  of  their 
family  union  ;  but  tracing  the  first  to  the  separation  of  their 
dear  parents  from  the  family  circle,  she  felt  that  the  hand  of 
God  had  unclasped  them  for  wise  purposes ;  and  while  she 
prayed  with  earnest  faith,  she  still  hoped  for  the  reunion  of  all 
these  broken  links,  if  not  in  this  world,  in  the  brighter  one  to 
come.  These  blessed  hopes  sustained  her ;  but  poor  Madge, 
farther  and  farther  off,  into  the  barren  desert  of  doubt  and 
suspicion,  found  her  heart  chilled  once  more,  for  want  of  a 
genial,  firm,  and  loving  spirit. 

Little  did  she  think  how  completely  Ralph  still  read  her 
heart,  understood  her  temptation,  prayed  for  the  misguided 
girl,  and  looked  for  her  return.  He  feared  it  might  be  long, 
for  he  saw  her  surrounded  by  the  mists  of  prejudice;  but  still 
he  hoped,  and  still  he  loved  the  wayward  child  of  genius. 
Believing  that  he  had  ceased  to  care  for  her,  Madge  was  per- 


108  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

fectly  reconciled  to  the  idea  of  leaving  America,  and  began  to 
look  forward  with  some  anxiety  to  the  prospect  of  seeing  other 
countries,  and  of  revelling  among  the  beautiful  scenery  of  the 
interior  of  Europe.  The  winter  passed  rapidly  away.  That 
sweet  season  had  come,  when  the  singing  of  the  birds  is  heard 
in  the  green  forests,  among  the  leafy  boughs ;  and,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  Scripture,  when  "  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  iu 
the  land." 

Early  in  May,  the  parents  returned,  Mrs.  Clifford  greatly 
improved,  having  gained  flesh,  with  a  more  rosy-tinted  com- 
plexion, and  much  more  strength.  They  were  all  delighted 
to  be  together  once  more.  Preparations  for  departure  rapidly 
progressed.  The  house  was  to  be  left  in  the  care  of  a  steward 
and  his  family,  in  whom  they  could  repose  perfect  confidence. 
Frank  and  Gerald  came  home  on  a  short  visit  before  the 
family  sailed,  and  anxious  to  see  Ralph,  Mrs.  Clifford  sent  for 
him  also.  Madge  seemed  softened  at  the  idea  of  leaving  Ralph 
unreconciled,  and  often  appeared  disturbed  at  the  thought,  and 
almost  inclined  to  grant  the  interview  which  he  sought ;  but 
the  old  pride  held  her  back,  and  the  certainty  that  she  had 
estranged  every  friend  but  Josephine,  made  her  still  shrink 
from  his  notice. 

One  evening,  she  had  wandered  to  her  old  walk  by  the  river- 
side. Seated  on  the  bank,  she  was  sadly  musing  on  the  past, 
and  wondering  over  the  future.  While  absorbed  in  thought, 
she  did  not  perceive  footsteps  approaching,  until  Ralph  Came- 
ron stood  before  her.  She  was  about  to  run  hastily  away,  when, 
with  his  former  spirit  of  command,  he  took  the  little  hand  which 
trembled  in  his  grasp,  and  seating  her  by  his  side,  said : 

"  Why  do  you  avoid  me,  Madge  ?  Are  you  really  going 
away,  so  completely  estranged  from  your  old  friend?" 

"You  cannot  wish  it  to  be  different,  Mr.  Cameron,  after  the 
events  of  last  winter.  My  conduct  was  so  bad,  that  with  your 
principles,  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  notice  me.  I  deceived  my 
sister,  and  have  ever  since  been  pursuing  a  path  of  determined 
transgression." 

"  Are  you  happy,  Madge?" 


THE   FAMILY    CHAIN   BROKEN.  109 

"  Happy  !"  answered  the  child,  "I  do  not  expect  to  be  happy. 
I  am  ugly,  disagreeable,  proud,  and  bad-tempered.  Nobody 
can  love  me ;  all  I  ask  is  to  be  let  alone." 

"  I  shall  never  do  that,  Madge.  When  I  profess  friendship, 
it  is  for  life ;  and  I  shall  never  cease  to  care  for  you,  to  pray  for 
you,  and  to  look  for  your  return  to  me,  Madge,  as  your  friend, 
but  most  of  all  to  God,  whom  you  have  offended." 

The  trembling  lip  and  tearful  eye,  betrayed  the  feelings  with 
which  Madge  listened  to  the  old  familiar  tones  of  kindness. 
She  did  not  trust  herself  to  look  into  Kalph's  face,  for  she  men- 
tally referred  to  Josephine's  sneers,  and  inwardly  resolved  not 
to  place  herself  so  completely  under  her  friend's  control.  Under 
the  influence  of  this  evil  feeling,  she  merely  replied : 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Cameron,  for  your  kind  instructions,  but  I 
am  growing  older  every  day,  and  think  that  I  ought  to  act  a 
little  more  independently." 

"  Foolish  child !"  replied  Ralph,  "  you  will  be  sorry  for  re- 
fusing my  friendship.  Remember  what  I  say, — you  will  come 
back  to  your  old  friend  ;  but  I  fear  that  you  are  laying  up  for 
yourself  a  store  of  sorrow  before  that  day." 

"  When  I  feel  the  need  of  your  advice,  I  will  certainly  ask 
it,  Mr.  Cameron,"  replied  Madge,  "  but  for  the  present,  I  have 
a  strong-minded  friend  of  my  own  sex,  who  is  able  to  direct  me." 

"  Do  you  mean  Josephine  Fortescue,  Madge  ?  I  am  very 
sorry  that  you  should  have  chosen  such  a  guide.  She  is  one 
illy  qualified  to  direct  such  a  spirit  as  yours." 

Ralph  saw  that  the  mood  of  the  young  girl  was  completely 
changed,  and  that  the  poison  of  Josephine's  teaching  had  com- 
menced its  work.  His  noble  heart  was  deeply  pained  on  feeling 
the  estrangement  which  had  thus  been  produced ;  but  with  true 
Christian  faith,  he  laid  his  hand  on  Madge's  head,  and  said : 

"I  leave  you,  my  dear  child,  in  God's  care;  may  he  guide, 
watch  over,  and  bear  with  you,  and  bring  you  into  his  fold." 

Tears  filled  her  eyes,  and  choked  her  utterance,  as  she  re- 
plied : 

"  You  will  not  forget  me,  Mr.  Cameron,  though  I  have  proved 
myself  so  unworthy  ?" 


110  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"No,  Madge,  in  your  distant  sojourn  in  a  foreign  land,  re- 
member, that  at  morning  and  at  night  I  shall  bear  you  on  my 
heart  before  a  throne  of  grace." 

Somewhat  softened,  Madge  accompanied  Ralph  to  the  house. 
Next  day,  he  took  his  sorrowful  leave  of  the  family,  and  re- 
turned to  college,  the  same  kind  and  faithful  friend  of  poor 
misguided  Madge.  She  stood  upon  the  piazza,  watching  the 
carriage  which  conveyed  her  friend  away,  and  kept  down 
the  swelling  feelings  of  regret  which  agitated  her  young  heart 
at  the  remembrance  of  what  she  had  thrown  away,  and  secretly 
wondered  if  Josephine  would  prove  the  same  faithful  friend 
that  Ralph  had  been.  The  sequel  will  show  the  results  of  her 
present  course  of  proud  independence. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

BEYOND    THE    SEA. 

RAVELLING  preparations  rapidly  progressed. 
Gerald  and  Frank  still  tarried ;  for,  looking  for- 
ward to  a  separation  for  two  years,  they  could 
not  bear  to  sunder  the  last  tie  too  soon. 

The  evening  before  departure  at  length  arrived. 
After  tea,  Gerald  whispered  to  Edith,  "  Will  you 
walk  with  me  ?"  And  silently  they  pursued  their 
way  down  the  shady  avenue  to  the  old  elm  tree,  a 
spot  so  much  endeared  by  so  many  tender  recollections.  Edith 
leaned  on  Gerald's  arm  mournfully  and  silently.  Not  one 
word  Avas  spoken,  until  they  reached  the  trysting-place.  It 
was  a  lovely  evening  in  May  ;  all  around  was  fresh  and  smiling, 
but  the  two  young  hearts  felt  no  sympathy  with  the  loveliness 
of  the  evening ;  for  thoughts  of  the  deep  ocean  which  would 
soon  roll  between  them,  sank  into  their  bosoms  like  lead,  and 
quenched  each  joyous  feeling.  Gerald  seated  himself  by  Edith, 
upon  a  rustic  settee  that  stood  under  the  old  tree.  Taking  her 
hand,  he  said : 

"  Edith,  what,  a  lonely  place  Ravenswood  will  be  when  you 
are  far  away !  I  cannot  tell  you  how  sadly  I  look  forward  to 
our  separation.  I  can  scarcely  bear  to  think  of  even  visiting 
our  old  haunts  when  you  are  absent." 

"  Are  you  sure,  Gerald,"  replied  Edith,  "  that  you  will  con- 
Ill 


112  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

tinue  to  remember  me  ?  May  not  absence  dim  the  recollection 
of  your  early  friend  ?" 

"  No,  Edith,  nothing  can  efface  your  image  from  my  heart. 
I  cannot  see  you  depart,  without  a  promise  which  will  bind  you 
to  me  for  life,  as  my  sweet  companion." 

"That  promise  is  yours,  Gerald,"  solemnly  replied  Edith; 
"  no  other  can  ever  be  so  dear  to  me,  as  the  cherished  friend  of 
my  early  years,  the  future  partner  of  my  earthly  lot ;  but  re- 
member, Gerald,  if  you  should  prove  untrue  to  me,  my  hopes 
of  earthly  happiness  are  at  an  end." 

"  Do  not  talk  so,  Edith ;  it  seems  to  imply  a  doubt  of  my 
constancy.  You  will  write  frequently.  I  shall  expect  to  hear 
by  every  steamer,  and  shall  be  greatly  disappointed  if  you 
should  be  negligent." 

"  You  need  not  fear  that,  Gerald ;  it  will  be  my  greatest  com- 
fort in  a  foreign  land." 

"  I  have  a  little  case  here,  Edith,  which  I  have  thought  that 
you  would  value,"  said  Gerald ;  and  taking  it  from  his  pocket, 
he  handed  it  to  her. 

What  was  her  delight  on  seeing  a  perfect  resemblance  of 
himself,  painted  by  his  own  hand !  Long  ere  this,  he  had 
secured  a  picture  of  Edith,  which  all  had  pronounced  excellent, 
and  which  he  preserved  among  his  treasures. 

In  sad,  though  pleasant  intercourse,  they  whiled  away  the 
twilight  hour,  and  returning,  when  they  came  in  sight  of  his 
house,  Gerald  paused,  and  pointing  to  his  home,  said,  "  Oh, 
Edith,  how  long  the  time  appears,  ere  I  can  claim  you  as  the 
mistress  of  Oak  Hall.  How  many  years  may  elapse  before  that 
happy  day  ?" 

"It  may  never  be,  Gerald.  The  future  is  wisely  hidden 
from  us.  Sickness  or  death  may  overtake  either  of  us ;  and 
should  I  lose  my  precious  mother,  duty  might  call  me  else- 
where ;  but  while  I  desire  to  commit  all  the  future  to  God 
entirely,  be  assured  that  my  eaithly  love  is  all  your  own." 

The  shades  of  night  gathered  rapidly  around  them  ;  the 
whip-poor-will  sang  sadly  his  evening  song ;  the  night-hawk 
sailed  over  their  heads,  screaming  as  he  directed  his  course  to 


BEYOND   THE  SEA.  113 

the  woods  ;  the  old  elm  tree  was  seen  no  more,  and  Oak  Hall 
was  concealed  by  the  curtain  of  night.  As  they  reached  the 
piazza,  the  moon  arose  slowly  and  majestically,  shedding  her 
pale  light  over  the  landscape.  Their  spirits  were  in  unison 
with  the  melancholy  of  the  picture,  and  after  sitting  a  few 
minutes  on  the  piazza,  they  entered  the  house.  The  parents 
fully  sanctioned  the  transaction  of  the  evening,  and  Edith's 
high  nature  felt  a  new  motive  to  grow  in  grace  and  elevation 
of  character,  when  she  looked  upon  herself  as  the  betrothed 
of  Gerald  Fortescue. 

The  morning  dawned  propitiously.  At  an  early  hour,  the 
carriages  stood  before  the  door.  All  the  servants  but  Uncle 
Peter  had  been  dismissed.  A  trusty  family  was  left  in  charge 
of  the  house,  and  the  faithful  old  man  was  appointed  to  take 
care  of  the  grounds.  Aunt  Priscilla  had  come  up  to  take 
leave  of  the  family.  She  had  furnished  them  abundantly  with 
medicine  for  sea-sickness.  She  had  made  each  a  nice  shoe-bag 
and  needle-book,  and  in  Edith's  hand  she  placed  a  package, 
which  she  desired  her  not  to  open  until  she  embarked  on  board 
the  vessel.  Miss  Arnold  and  a  faithful  old  nurse  accompanied 
the  party.  The  latter  was  a  faithful  servant,  who  had  nursed 
Mrs.  Clifford  when  an  infant,  and  being  tenderly  attached  to 
her,  had  lived  with  her  ever  since  her  marriage,  and  had 
become  an  indispensable  appendage  to  the  family.  When  all 
was  prepared,  Mrs.  Clifford  stood  on  the  piazza,  taking  one  last 
look  of  her  beautiful  home.  Turning  to  her  husband  as  she 
leaned  upon  him,  she  said,  "We  shall  see  nothing  lovelier  than 
this,  George.  Look  at  that  flowing  river,  the  fresh  green 
forests,  and  those  rolling  hills.  Were  it  not  for  the  hope  of 
restored  health,  nothing  could  tempt  me  to  leave  this  charm- 
ing spot."  Turning,  she  bade  Aunt  Priscilla  an  affectionate 
farewell. 

Uncle  Peter  covered  his  face  to  hide  his  tears,  and  blessing 
his  kind  mistress,  he  moved  rapidly  away.  Gerald  and  Frank 
accompanied  the  party  to  New  York,  where  they  took  a 
steamer  for  Liverpool.  The  young  men  stayed  on  board  until 
the  last  minute.  When  the  signal  to  leave  was  given,  farewells 


114  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

were  spoken  hastily.  Gerald  wrung  Edith's  hand,  and  press- 
ing it  to  his  lips,  in  another  minute  was  gone. 

As  the  steamer  slowly  moved  from  the  wharf,  Edith  who 
stood  watching,  pale  and  motionless,  perceived  Gerald  standing 
with  his  hat  down  over  his  face.  With  one  more  wave  of  his 
hand,  he  turned  slowly  away,  and  taking  Frank's  arm,  they 
walked  silently  back  to  their  hotel.  The  next  day  they  re- 
turned to  college,  and  the  vessel  pursued  her  gallant  course 
rapidly  out  to  sea. 

Remembering  Aunt  Priscilla's  package,  Edith  opened  it  and 
to  her  surprise  found  a  draft  for  one  hundred  dollars  for  her 
own  personal  use,  as  a  parting  gift  from  her  aged  relative. 

Mrs.  Clifford  suffered  much  from  sea-sickness,  and  the  ser- 
vices of  dear  old  nursey  were  invaluable.  Edith  was  often 
very  sad.  Madge  was  moody  and  sought  solitude.  Blanche 
and  Adele  enjoyed  the  novelty  of  their  situation, — everything 
on  board  the  ship  delighted  them.  Lilly  and  Emily  were  the 
especial  charge  of  nurse,  and  Edith,  in  company  with  Miss 
Arnold,  learned  to  delight  in  the  grandeur  and  magnificence 
of  scenes  on  the  deep  blue  and  boundless  ocean. 

After  a  pleasant  passage,  they  arrived  in  safety  at  the  desired 
haven.  Staying  but  a  few  days  in  Liverpool,  they  proceeded 
to  London,  and  the  whole  party  were  delighted  with  the  country 
through  which  they  travelled, — the  railroads  were  conducted 
so  admirably,  and  the  travelling  so  easy  and  pleasant.  They 
passed  many  beautiful  homes,  and  were  especially  struck  with 
the  hedge-row  beauties  which  they  observed.  The  white  haw- 
thorn blossom,  now  in  full  bloom,  dividing  the  field,  gave  the 
country  the  appearance  of  a  highly  cultivated  garden.  The 
charming  villas,  the  rose-embowered  cottages,  the  grassy  lanes, 
and  countless  village  spires  towering  up  to  heaven,  all  lent 
enchantment  to  the  picturesque  scenery  which  everywhere  met 
the  eye. 

On  reaching  London,  they  delivered  a  few  letters  of  intro- 
duction to  some  choice  English  families,  and  were  delighted 
with  the  acquaintances  which  they  formed.  They  had  brought 
letters  to  a  family  by  the  name  of  Percy,  whom  they  found 


BEYOND  THE  SEA.  115 

living  out  of  town, — at  Richmond, — in  one  of  the  most  charm- 
ing suburbs  of  the  great  metropolis.  Their  house  was  an  old- 
fashioned  English  hall,  provided  with  every  comfort,  and  even 
many  luxuries  of  life,  surrounded  by  highly  cultivated  grounds. 
The  noble  old  trees  looked  as  ancient  as  if  they  had  sheltered 
several  generations,  and  their  flower-garden  was  laid  out  in  the 
most  tasteful  manner. 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clifford  paid  their  first  visit,  they  soon 
found  themselves  domesticated  with  one  of  the  finest  specimens 
of  a  refined  and  pious  English  family.  It  consisted  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Percy,  a  governess,  Clara,  the  eldest  daughter,  a  girl  of 
fifteen ;  May,  the  next,  a  child  of  thirteen,  and  Lydia,  a  little 
girl  of  six.  Lionel,  a  youth  of  nineteen,  was  absent  at  college, 
and  to  judge  from  the  affectionate  mention  of  this  beloved 
member  of  the  family,  one  might  suppose  that  he  was  every- 
thing that  a  son  and  brother  ought  to  be.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
the  loving  household  looked  at  him  through  the  glasses  which 
made  everything  couleur  de  rose.  When  Clara  took  the  young 
girls  out  on  an  excursion  through  the  grounds,  they  were  con- 
tinually chatting  of  Brother  Lionel. 

"Do  you  see  that  pigeon-box?  Brother  made  it  and  nailed 
it  up  there,  and  we  take  care  of  his  pigeons  while  he  is  away." 

Running  still  further  on,  they  came  to  a  pond  of  gold-fish. 

"Look  at  those  fish,  Miss  Edith,"  said  Clara.  "Some  of 
them  are  so  tame,  that  when  brother  throws  crumbs  of  bread, 
they  will  come  up  close  to  the  border  of  the  pond  to  get  them ; 
but,  no  wonder,  Lionel  is  so  kind.  He  would  not  even  hurt  a 
fish." 

When  they  came  to  the  stables,  Clara  called  to  the  groom : 
"  John,  will  you  bring  out  Oscar?"  and  very  soon  a  fine-looking 
horse  came  ambling  gaily  out  of  the  stable,  and  neighing  at  the 
sight  of  the  children,  came  rubbing  his  head  against  Clara's 
hand,  and  seemed  as  tame  among  them  as  a  pet  dog. 

"  That  is  Lionel's  horse.  He  loves  brother  just  as  much  as 
we  do,  and  when  he  comes  home,  Oscar  is  as  happy  as  any  one 
else." 

May  went  running  into  the  stable,  and  calling  out,  "  Tray, 


116  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

come  out  here,"  her  call  was  soon  responded  to  by  a  fine  old 
dog,  that  came  bounding  along  to  greet  his  young  friends. 

"  That  is  Lionel's  dog,"  said  May.  "  I  -wish  you  could  see 
how  he  minds  brother,  and  yet  he  never  strikes  him,  or  says  ail 
unkind  word." 

"  When  does  your  brother  come  home  ?"  asked  Blanche. 

"  Not  till  vacation.  When  he  returns  this  summer,  he  is 
going  to  travel  with  his  tutor." 

"  Is  he  handsome  ?"  asked  Adele. 

" Yes,  indeed,"  replied  May;  "he  is  splendid.  He  has  the 
most  beautiful  black  eyes,  and  fine  black  hair,  and  such  white 
teeth,  and  then  his  smile  is  so  sweet ;  but  when  he  gets  angry, 
I  feel  afraid  of  Lionel,  for  his  eyes  look  so  fiery,  they  seem  like 
lightning." 

"  Oh !  then  he  does  get  angry,"  said  Adele. 

"Yes;  I  remember  once,  when  our  groom  beat  his  horse 
furiously,  Lionel  was  very  angry,  and  threatened  to  have  him 
turned  away  ;  but  when  the  man  begged  his  pardon,  he  for- 
gave him.  Then  he  was  angry  again,  when  he  saw  a  proud- 
looking  man  knock  down  a  poor  little  match  girl  in  the 
street.  Dear  brother  picked  up  all  her  matches  for  her ;  and 
he  was  so  vexed  with  the  proud  man,  that  he  seized  him  by 
the  collar,  and  was  going  to  knock  him  down,  only  he  begged 
his  pardon." 

"  Well,  I  think  that  I  should  like  to  know  this  brother  of 
yours,"  said  Adele. 

"  Perhaps  you  may,  some  day,"  replied  May.  "  I  don't 
think  that  anybody  has  such  a  darling  brother,  so  good,  so 
wise,  so  beautiful." 

Many  were  the  pleasant  hours  spent  by  the  Cliffords  with 
this  excellent  family.  On  their  first  Sabbath  in  England,  they 
passed  the  day  with  the  Percy's,  going  to  church  with  them  in 
the  morning.  They  returned  to  dinner.  At  the  table,  each 
child  was  expected  to  repeat  as  much  as  was  remembered  of 
the  sermon,  and  the  conversation  was  such  as  became  the  day. 
In  the  evening  Mr.  Percy  conducted  family  prayer  in  the 
library ;  aud  on  each  morning,  every  member  of  the  family 


BEYOND  THE  SEA,  117 

repeated  a  text,  of  Scripture,  and  children,  servants,  and  the 
whole  household,  joined  in  the  solemn  worship.  They  truly 
obeyed  the  Scriptural  injunction,  to  "  use  hospitality  without 
grudging,"  and  our  travellers  soon  felt  as  much  at  home  with 
them,  as  in  the  family  of  relatives.  Under  their  kind  escort, 
they  explored  all  the  places  of  interest  in  and  about  London. 
Madge  was  charmed  with  her  visit  to  Westminster  Abbey. 
Standing  amidst  its  long  dark  cloisters,  surrounded  by  the 
dust  of  sleeping  kings  and  rival  monarchs,  she  could  scarcely 
breathe,  so  intense  was  the  feeling  with  which  she  gazed  upon 
those  solemn  monuments  of  human  greatness.  The  misty  light 
of  these  dim  cloisters  imparted  a  mysterious  grandeur  to  the 
imposing  scene ;  and  the  vivid  imagination  of  Madge  Clifford 
found  it  very  easy  to  people  the  dark  Abbey  with  spirits  of 
the  departed. 

Shakespeare  seemed  to  arise  from  his  silent  sepulchre,  and, 
waving  his  magic  wand  among  the  tombs,  he  called  up  many 
illustrious  spirits  from  their  deep  slumbers,  who  stalked 
before  her  mental  vision  in  all  their  grandeur.  Henry  the 
Eighth  and  his  murdered  queens  rose  first,  the  gloomy 
Katharine  of  Arragon,  the  bewitching  Anne  Boleyn,  the 
beautiful  Catharine  Howard,  the  scorned  and  disappointed 
Anne  of  Cleves,  and  last  the  wily  Catharine  Parr ;  all  seemed 
to  pass  before  her,  with  accusing  looks  of  injured  woman- 
hood. Richard  the  Third  seemed  confronted  with  the  mur- 
dered Princes,  and  the  ghost  of  injured  Clarence  seemed  to 
point  his  pale  finger  at  his  murderer.  The  haughty  Eliza- 
beth shrank  from  the  shadowy  form  of  the  lovely  Mary 
Stuart,  and  she  could  almost  hear  the  clanging  of  knightly 
armor,  as  she  recalled  the  martial  deeds  of  Richard  Coeur  de 
Lion. 

Poets  chanted  their  magnificent  lays,  and  great  musicians 
breathed  unearthly  music  around  her.  It  was  at  an  hour  of 
daily  service  when  she  visited  the  Abbey,  and  as  the  choir 
chanted  their  solemn  hymns,  she  could  easily  imagine  that 
she  was  in  another  world,  listening  to  heavenly  strains  around 
the  everlasting  throne.  She  was  bewildered,  overpowered ; 


118  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

not  one  word  could  she  speak.  So  much  did  she  feel  herself 
surrounded  by  the  mighty  dead,  that  she  would  have  felt  it 
sacrilege  to  speak  in  such  an  audience-chamber.  When  tread- 
ing again  the  streets  of  London,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  in 
dream-land,  and  for  hours  she  could  not  recover  the  usual  tone 
of  her  mind. 

After  having  visited  all  the  places  of  note,  it  was  arranged 
to  proceed  to  the  chaiming  lakes  of  Westmoreland;  after 
which,  it  was  proposed  to  make  a  summer  tour  on  the  Con- 
tinent, and  to  spend  the  following  winter  at  Pau,  in  the 
south  of  France.  They  parted  with  much  regret  from  their 
pleasant  friends,  the  Percy's,  but  with  the  sanguine  feelings  of 
the  young,  the  juvenile  portion  of  the  party  hoped  to  meet 
again. 

Travelling  through  a  most  picturesque  part  of  England, 
they  visited  the  charming  lakes  of  Westmoreland.  That  of 
Derwent  Water  was  peculiarly  beautiful,  dotted  over  with 
green  islands,  and  decorated  with  elegant  country-seats,  in  a 
state  of  high  cultivation.  A  beautiful,  though  not  very 
noisy  cascade,  whose  musical  waters  murmured  at  the  en- 
trance, was  an  additional  feature  of  beauty.  In  their  tour, 
they  stopped  at  Wordsworth's  residence,  on  Rydal  Mount,  situ- 
ated among  the  most  enchanting  scenery  of  the  north  of 
England.  In  view  of  the  poet's  home,  Madge  read  aloud 
some  of  his  most  beautiful  peoms,  and  realized  much  more 
keenly  the  charm  of  his  descriptions. 

Early  one  morning,  Blanche  and  Adele,  with  the  permission 
of  their  parents,  started  on  an  excursion  in  search  of  some  long 
grasses,  which  they  had  observed  in  their  rambles.  Taking 
a  little  boat  they  were  safely  conducted  over  the  lake  to  one  of 
the  green  islands,  on  the  borders  of  which  they  hoped  to  find 
the  object  of  their  search.  When  they  reached  the  island, 
they  dismissed  the  boatman,  telling  him  to  return  in  about  an 
hour. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  genial  days  in  June,  when  the  blue 
sky,  in  its  perfect  transparency,  seemed  as  though  the  spirits 
who  might  visit  its  confines  could  almost  be  seen  by  human 


BEYOND    THE   SEA.  119 

eyes.  The  air  was  exhilarating;  and  the  young  creatures,  who 
bounded  in  all  the  gayety  of  youthful  spirits  over  the  green 
velvet  sward,  and  under  the  leafy  trees,  seemed  under  the 
inspiration  of  one  of  Nature's  brightest  holidays.  Attired 
in  simple  white  dresses,  with  large  straw  flats,  tied  under  the 
chin  Avith  a  light  blue  ribbon,  they  flitted  about  like  some  pure 
vision  of  youth  and  beauty.  They  were  now  in  their  fourteenth 
year,  and  were  charming  specimens  of  that  time  of  youthful 
loveliness. 

"  Look  there,  Blanche,"  said  Adele,  "there  are  some  of  the 
very  grasses  which  we  want ;  but  they  are  on  the  other  side  of 
the  lake.  How  can  we  get  there?  O,  I  see!  there  is  a  boat. 
I  know  how  to  row,  for  I  have  rowed  many  a  time  on  our  own 
dear  Hudson." 

"Are  you  not  afraid  to  try  it,  Adele?"  asked  Blanche,  who 
was  much  more  tirnid  than  her  sister. 

"  No,  indeed ;  can  anything  be  more  quiet  than  this  beau- 
tiful lake  ?  and  it  is  a  very  short  distance.  Let  us  try  it." 

Accordingly,  Adele  quickly  unmoored  the  boat,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  young  creatures  were  gliding  rapidly  along 
in  search  of  their  grasses.  Adele  had  thrown  off  her  hat; 
her  luxuriant  black  hair  hung  in  clustering  ringlets  around 
her  bright  face,  and  down  her  shoulders ;  exercise  and  excite- 
ment had  imparted  an  additional  glow  to  her  olive  com- 
plexion, and  more  brilliancy  to  her  sparkling  eyes.  They 
went  along,  singing  merily,  until  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
grasses.  Leaning  over  the  boat,  they  succeeded  in  obtain- 
ing some  fine  variegated  specimens. 

"  Oh,  Blanche,  see  what  beauties!  But  they  are  so  far  off," 
said  Adele.  But  not  accustomed  to  be  deterred  by  difficulties 
in  the  execution  of  her  plans,  she  gave  a  few  more  strokes  of 
her  oar,  and  was  almost  in  reach  of  her  prize.  Extending  the 
oar  to  draw  them  nearer,  she  found  that  she  could  not  reach 
them ;  and  leaning  over,  as  Blanche  thought,  too  far,  her  sister 
was  alarmed,  and  called  out, 

"  Adele !  Adele !  be  careful.  I  am  afraid  that  you  will 
upset  the  boat." 


120  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Adele  stood  up  one  minute  in  the  boat,  and  giving  another 
stroke,  she  was  so  near  that  she  could  almost  reach  the  grasses 
stretching  forward,  the  motion  caused  the  boat  to  recede  a 
little ;  another  effort,  and  in  the  long  stretch  which  Adele 
made,  she  lost  her  balance,  fell  over,  and  in  one  instant  was 
in  the  water.  Blanche  screamed  for  help,  as  she  saw  her 
sister  go  down ;  and  in  her  terror,  dropping  the  oar,  the  boat 
floated  out  into  the  stream,  leaving  Adele  struggling  in  the 
water.  In  her  agony,  Blanche  continued  screaming,  until 
overcome  with  terror,  she  sank  fainting  in  the  boat, 

During  the  scene,  a  young  man  had  been  seated  on  a  shady 
knoll,  somewhat  back  from  the  shore,  watching  the  pretty 
picture,  and  admiring  the  sportive  grace  with  which  the  young 
girls  had  been  flitting  about  on  the  island.  Hearing  the 
sudden  plunge,  and  the  screams  at  the  same  minute,  he  flew  to 
the  shore,  and  as  Adele  was  going  down  the  second  time, 
succeeded  in  snatching  her  form  a  watery  grave. 

As  he  raised  the  lovely  from  of  the  insensible  girl,  he  feared 
that  it  was  too  late ;  but  he  laid  her  down  on  the  shore,  in  the 
position  most  favorable  for  her  recovery,  and  looking  round,  he 
called  loudly  for  help.  Perceiving  two  men  not  far  off  from 
the  shore,  he  succeded  in  attracting  their  attention.  As  quickly 
as  possible,  they  conveyed  the  apparently  lifeless  form  to 
the  nearest  cottage,  and  on  applying  the  usual  restoratives, 
the  young  man  was  rejoiced  to  see  signs  of  returning  life. 

In  the  meanwhile,  he  had  dispatched  the  men  in  search  of 
Blanche.  Taking  a  boat,  they  soon  reached  the  poor  child, 
who  still  laid  insensible  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  On  con- 
veying her  to  the  cottage  where  Adele  laid  still  weak,  and  in  a 
state  of  great  nervous  excitement,  she  was  committed  to  the  care 
of  the  kind  people  who  had  administered  to  the  case  of  her 
sister.  So  soon  as  Blanche  opened  her  eyes,  she  looked  wildly 
around,  and  exclaimed,  in  a  pitiful  tone  of  agony,  "Oh,  Adele! 
Adele !  Where  is  my  sister?  Tell  me  the  worst !" 

"She  is  here,"  replied  her  preserver,  "safe,  and  anxious  to 
see  you." 

When   Blanche  was  conducted   into  her  sister's  presence 


BEYOND   THE   SEA.  121 

they  threw  themselves  into  each  other's  arms,  and  wept  con- 
vulsively for  some  minutes. 

"  Oh,  Adele,  what  a  fearful  dream  I  have  had !  How  could 
I  have  lived  without  you,  my  dear,  dear  sister !"  exclaimed 
Blanche. 

The  young  man  who  had  rescued  Adele  stood  gazing  on  the 
scene  with  feelings  of  deep  interest.  He  looked  about  nineteen, 
with  fine  dark  eyes  and  hair,  and  a  peculiarly  noble  bearing. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you  sufficiently  ?"  said  Adele.  "  What 
will  my  parents  say?  I  was  so  foolish,  and  I  fear  disobe- 
dient." 

"  Do  not  say  a  word  about  thanks,"  replied  the  youth ;  "  I 
am  too  happy  to  have  saved  your  life.  When  you  feel  suffi- 
ciently recovered,  allow  me  to  conduct  you  to  your  parents." 

"  Let  us  go  soon,"  said  Adele ;  and  attired  in  dry  clothes, 
borrowed  from  the  cottagers,  they  started  for  their  hotel.  The 
young  man  rowed  the  boat  himself;  and  on  drawing  near  to 
the  hotel,  they  met  the  old  nurse,  coming  out  in  anxious  search 
of  her  darlings. 

"Where  have  you  been  so  long?  your  mamma  is  very  un- 
easy," said  the  old  woman. 

"  Oh,  nurse,  don't  scold  us ;  I  have  been  nearly  drowned," 
replied  Adele ;  "  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  this  kind  friend, 
I  should  never  have  seen  you  again." 

Seizing  his  hand,  the  faithful  old  woman  imprinted  on  it 
respectful  kisses,  while  she  uttered,  "  Heaven  be  a  praised  for 
this  goodness !  Thank  you  a  thousand  times !  We  could  not 
spare  our  darling  twins !" 

Nurse  broke  the  intelligence  quickly  to  Mrs.  Clifford,  who 
in  the  joy  of  receiving  her  rescued  child,  could  not  find  it  in 
her  heart  to  reprove  her  at  that  time  for  her  rashness. 
Turning  to  the  youth,  with  swimming  eyes,  she  said,  "And  to 
whom  am  I  indebted  for  this  deliverance?" 

"  It  matters  not,  dear  madam  ;  I  shall  leave  this  evening  for 
my  home,  and  would  prefer  to  remain  unknown  in  this  matter. 
I  have  been  instrumental  in  restoring  your  sweet  daughter  to 
your  arms,  and  this  moment  amply  repays  me." 


122  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Bidding  her  good-bye,  the  young  stranger  took  his  depar 
ture ;  and  when  Mr.  Clifford  made  inquiries  for  him,  no  trace 
of  him  could  be  found.  A  young  man  answering  his  descrip- 
tion had  arrived  the  day  before,  stayed  all  night,  and  had 
departed  in  the  morning.  But  the  beautiful  vision  of  the  young 
girls  went  with  him,  and  he  often  wondered  who  they  were. 
Blanche  had  appeared  almost  as  beautiful  as  an  angelic  form, 
but  the  sportive,  piquant  graces  of  mischievous  Adele,  had 
pleased  him  most. 

On  passing  through  the  hall,  Adele  had  found  a  small 
pocket-book,  with  tablets,  on  which  were  noted  college  engage- 
ments, and  a  few  scraps  of  fugitive  poetry.  A  few  specimens 
of  grass  were  carefully  folded  away,  in  a  small  envelope,  on 
which  was  written,  "  A  memorial  of  the  water-nymph  of  West" 
moreland."  She  was  almost  certain  that  this  belonged  to  her 
preserver,  and  she  carefully  laid  it  away  among  the  curiosities 
collected  on  their  journey. 

In  a  day  or  two  they  took  their  departure  from  the  charm- 
ing lakes,  and  on  their  route  they  visited  Melrose  Abbey,  and 
•walked  among  its  ruins  by  moonlight,  fully  realizing  the 
beauty  of  Sir  AAralter  Scott's  description  : 

"  If  thou  wouldst  view  fair  Melrose  aright, 
Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight; 
For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day 
Gild,  but  to  flout,  the  ruins  gray. 
When  the  broken  arches  are  black  in  night, 
And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white; 
When  the  cold  light's  uncertain  shower 
Streams  on  the  ruin'd  central  tower ; 
When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 
Seemed  formed  of  ebon  and  ivory ; 
When  silver  edges  the  imagery, 
And  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  live  and  die; 
When  distant  Tweed  is  heard  to  rave, 
And  the  owlet  to  hoot  o'er  the  dead  man's  grave, 
Then  go — but  go  alone  the  while — 
Then  view  St.  David's  ruin'd  pil« ; 
And,  home  returning,  soothly  swear, 
Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair !" 

They  could  not  leave  England  without  visiting  Abbotsford 


BEYOND   THE   SEA.  123 

and  in  Sir  Walter's  library  they  sat  and  listened  to  the  music 
of  the  Tweed,  as  it  rippled  over  its  pebbly  bed,  and  could  well 
imagine  the  soothing  charm  which  it  must  have  had  for  such  a 
mind  as  that  of  the  former  occupant  of  this  honored,  conse- 
crated spot. 

Edith  wished  for  Gerald  to  enjoy  these  charming  scenes  with 
her.  While  absent  from  Ralph,  Madge  thought  more  fre- 
quently of  him  than  of  Josephine  Fortescue.  Blanche  and 
Adele  found  amusement  everywhere,  and  the  whole  party  were 
encouraged  and  flattered  by  the  manifest  change  in  Mrs.  Clif- 
ford's health.  So  much  had  she  improved,  that  she  appeared 
to  enter,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  youth,  into  the  delight 
which  their  journey  afforded.  Miss  Arnold  was  a  peculiarly 
interesting  companion,  for  in  all  their  journeying  she  kept  her 
pupils  well  informed,  geographically,  historically,  practically, 
and  even  politically,  of  the  land  through  which  they  travelled. 
With  such  a  teacher,  her  young  charge  would  gain  more  know- 
ledge in  one  month  than  could  be  gathered  from  books  in  a  year. 
Each  was  required  to  keep  notes  of  all  that  they  saw  daily,  and 
at  their  stopping-places  their  journals  were  read  by  Miss  Arnold, 
and  useful  hints  given  for  future  notices.  When  stopping  long 
enough,  it  was  her  custom  to  correct  their  manuscripts.  They 
also  gathered  specimens  of  plants  and  minerals  in  their  journey, 
which  they  carefully  preserved  for  future  use. 

So  much  did  the  children  desire  it,  that  Mr.  Clifford  consented 
to  visit  the  ruins  of  Kenilworth  Castle,  ere  he  embarked  for 
France.  They  first  stopped  at  Warwick,  where  there  is  a  very 
fine  old  castle,  where  Madge  luxuriated  in  all  the  reveries  of 
her  romantic  nature;  then  they  directed  their  course  to  Kenil- 
worth, a  small  place  in  the  vicinity,  celebrated  only  for  its  mag- 
nificent castle  and  park,  the  former  of  which  is  now  in  ruins. 
It  was  a  gift  of  Queen  Elizabeth  to  her  favorite,  Dudley,  Earl 
of  Leicester.  The  area  inclosed  within  the  castle  walls  was 
seven  acres,  and  the  circuit  of  the  park  and  chase  alone,  was 
not  less  than  twenty  miles.  As  they  stood  amid  its  ruins,  Madge 
could  easily  picture  the  scenes  of  courtly  grandeur  once  acted 
there,  when  the  haughty  Elizabeth  visited  the  Earl  of  Leicester ; 


124  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

and  her  blood  chilled  with  horror,  when  she  thought  of  the 
mysterious  disappearance  of  the  lovely  Amy  Robsart,  when 
waiting  for  her  lord  and  husband,  betrayed,  as  many  thought, 
by  the  whistle  which  her  loving  heart  recognized  as  Leicester's 
but  which  only  lured  her  to  a  horrid  death.  She  thought  of  the 
deep  vault  beneath  the  treacherous  trap,  and  of  the  form  seen 
only  by  its  snowy  robes,  which  lay  there,  a  victim  to  man's  per- 
fidy. As  they  stood  in  silence  amid  its  forsaking  and  imposing 
ruins,  Elizabeth,  the  haughty  queen,  Essex  and  Leicester, 
the  favorites  ruined  by  her  preference,  Amy  Robsart,  the 
murdered  wife,  Burleigh,  the  sagacious  statesman,  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  the  accomplished  courtier, — all  passed  before  their 
mental  vision  ;  but  no  voice  could  answer  to  the  names  once  so 
powerful,  and  none  recall  them  from  the  world  where  they 
await  the  resurrection  trump.  To  Elizabeth,  and  all  her  flat- 
tering courtiers,  what  is  ambition  now  but  a  stinging  scorpion, 
if  it  has  caused  the  ruin  of  their  immortal  souls !  With 
thoughts  like  these,  they  left  the  scene,  deeply  impressed  with 
a  sense  of  the  vanity  of  earthly  grandeur  and  ambition.  Ere 
they  left  the  shores  of  England,  they  passed  through  the 
county  of  Devonshire,  where  they  saw  much  that  was  beautiful 
and  picturesque. 

They  had  seen  much  to  admire  in  England, — high  cultiva- 
tion, lovely  rural  landscapes, — much  beyound  the  merely 
rural, — refined  society,  remains  of  ancient  greatness,  views  of 
old  castles,  noble  churches,  richly  endowed  charities,  and  much 
that  was  elevated  in  literature ;  but  their  hearts  turned  back 
to  their  own  favored  land,  and  could  still  say,  "  America,  with 
all  thy  faults,  I  love  thee  still ;  with  all  thy  impulsiveness  and 
love  of  liberty,  bordering  sometimes  on  wild  license,  I  love 
thee  still ;"  for  in  those  very  excesses  may  be  seen  the  effort  of 
a  great  nation  to  reach  a  great  principle, — that  of  universal 
freedom,  and  no  aristocracy  but  that  of  worth  and  intellect. 


CHAPTER    XII. 


PRINCIPLES      TRIED. 


HE  eve  of  their  departure  from  England  was 
cheered'  by  news  from  home:  letters  from 
Gerald,  Frank,  and  Ralph  had  arrived,  all 
containing  intelligence  gratifying  to  their  friends. 
Gerald's  breathed  of  calm  and  pure  affection, 
Frank's  of  joyous  greetings,  and  Ralph's  of  kind 
and  brotherly  advice  to  Madge,  which  would  have 
produced  a  salutary  effect,  had  it  not  been  ac- 
companied by  a  counteracting  epistle  from  Josephine.  Edith 
had  kept  a  journal,  full  of  sweet  pictures  of  nature's  loveliest 
scenes,  and  sanctified  by  the  highest  sentiments  of  deep,  en- 
during affection  ;  this  was  for  Gerald's  especial  benefit,  on 
which  no  other  eyes  were  ever  permitted  to  rest. 

Madge  had  written  fully  to  Josephine ;  but  the  confidence 
which  had  once  existed  between  herself  and  Ralph  was  not 
yet  restored,  and  could  not  be  while  under  the  influence  of 
such  a  spirit  as  Josephine  Fortescue.  'Tis  true,  she  answered 
his  kind  letter  ;  but  with  a  jealous  watchfulness,  she  repressed 
all  expressions  of  former  friendship,  lest  he  should  imagine 
that  his  influence  was  returning. 

Ere  the  party  sailed  for  Havre,  they  despatched  their  pack- 
age, and  on  the  next  day  took  a  steamer,  which  in  a  few  hours 
landed  them  on  the  shores  of  France.  They  were  greatly 
annoyed  by  the  visit  of  the  officers,  who  searched  all  their 

125 


126  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

trunks,  and  i&ked  many  impertinent  questions,  which  the  free 
spirit  of  Americans  could  illy  brook.  Accustomed  to  travel 
where  and  how  they  pleased,  they  could  scarcely  realize  the  new 
situation  in  which  they  found  themselves  placed.  After  obtain- 
ing the  passports,  they  proceeded  rapidly  to  Paris.  Everything 
struck  them  as  splendid  in  the  extreme.  The  magnificent 
public  buildings;  the  fine  parks,  and  appearance  of  gayety 
everywhere  manifest,  completely  bewildered  our  young 
travellers,  and  they  could  scarcely  describe  the  impression 
which  these  new  scenes  made  upon  their  minds. 

Proceeding  to  Hotel  du  Louvre,  they  engaged  rooms  for  the 
night,  but  as  they  expected  to  remain  some  weeks  in  Paris,  Mr. 
Clifford  proceeded  on  the  following  morning  to  deliver  several 
letters,  one  to  a  distinguished  French  family,  named  D'Ouville, 
and  another  to  Mr.  Stuart,  an  English  gentleman.  Although 
M.  D'Ouville  was  a  gentleman  of  wealth,  he  found  him  resid- 
ing in  a  suite  of  apartments  in  Rue  Saint  Denis.  He  perceived 
that  this  was  the  general  custom,  and  accordingly  requested  M. 
D'Ouville  to  conduct  him  to  a  suitable  lodgings  for  his  family. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  he  found  himself  at 
the  porte  cochere  of  a  very  large  dark  sandstone  house, 
six  stories  high.  On  ringing  the  bell,  the  porter  (who  must  be 
ready  at  all  hours  of  the  twenty-four,)  answered  the  call,  saying 
that  there  were  rooms  to  rent.  Mr.  Clifford  perceived  that 
the  house  was  built  around  a  hollow  square,  having  a  court- 
yard sufficiently  large  to  admit  the  turning  of  a  carriage. 
On  ascending  the  staircase,  he  asked  to  be  shown  through  the 
vacant  rooms.  With  true  delicacy,  Mr.  Clifford  shrunk  back,  not 
•wishing  to  intrude  upon  the  retirement  of  private  families.  M 
D'Ouville  smiled,  and  said :  "  Vous  n'avez  rien  a  craindre,  lea 
Francais  sont  accoutumes  a  ces  choses  la ;  ils  ne  vous  trouveront 
pas  importun."  (You  need  not  fear;  French  people  are 
accustomed  to  these  things,  and  will  not  think  it  an  intrusion.) 
Accordingly,  Mr.  Clifford  was  conducted,  unceremoniously, 
from  room  to  room  by  the  landlord,  who  appeared  to  think 
himself  privileged  to  intrude  upon  his  tenants  at  any  hour.  On 
opening  a  door,  to  his  dismay  he  observed  a  lady  half-dressed, 


PRIN    IPLES  TRIED.  127 

and  was  about  retreating,  when,  with  the  utmost  sang  froid,  she 
exclaimed,  "  Entrez,  Monsieur,"  and  shrugging  her  shoulders, 
added,  "  Nous  n'y  pouvons  rien."  (We  cannot  help  it.)  On 
passing  on  the  next  room,  a  French  gentleman  arose,  and  with 
true,  politeness,  said,  '*  Voila  un  joli  appartement :  il  sera  libre 
demain."  (This  is  a  pleasant  room :  it  will  be  vacated  to- 
morrow.) 

On  proceeding  up  another  flight,  Mr.  Clifford  soon  discovered 
that  he  was  in  very  different  quarters,  it  being  evident  that 
the  family  occupying  these  rooms  were  English,  and  regarded 
the  visitors  as  disagreeable  intruders.  Mr.  Clifford  bowed  po- 
litely, and  said,  "  Excuse  me,  sir :  this  wyas  not  my  own  seeking, 
I  was  introduced  by  the  landlord."  As  soon  as  the  gentleman 
perceived  that  the  visitor  was  one  who  sympathized  with  his 
own  feeling  of  reserve,  he  replied,  "you  are  excusable,  sir; 
but  you  will  be  much  annoyed  by  the  free  manners  of  these 
French  people."  Passing  further  on,  they  saw  a  couple  of 
young  ladies  hastily  retreating  into  a  closet,  for  fear  of  being  ob- 
served by  strangers. 

The  landlord,  perceiving  that  Mr.  Clifford  was  pleased  with 
the  last  suite  of  rooms,  bowing  politely,  said,  "  Le  Conte  D' 
Arlincourt  a  vu  ces  chambres,  il  y  a  quelques  jours,  il  les  a 
trouvees  delicieuses."  (The  Count  D' Arlincourt  was  looking  at 
these  rooms  a  few  days  since  and  was  perfectly  charmed.)  Mr. 
Clifford  smiled  significantly  on  hearing  this  flourish,  and  with 
true  American  republicanism,  wondered  how  the  admiration  of 
a  French  count  could  possibly  recommend  the  rooms. 

Heartily  glad  that  they  suited  him,  he  engaged  them,  already 
furnished  with  everything  excepting  linen  and  silver.  Having 
concluded  his  bargain,  he  hastily  left  the  house,  powerfully 
impressed  by  the  contrast  here  presented,  to  the  sweet  private 
homes  of  domestic  comfort  and  refinement  in  his  own  native 
land.  In  the  afternoon  he  conveyed  his  family  to  their  apart- 
ments, hired  an  additional  domestic,  and  soon  they  found  them- 
selves as  comfortably  situated  as  they  could  be,  away  from  dear 
Ravenswood.  Mrs.  Clifford  felt  the  contrast  painfully ;  for  here 
were  found  nobles,  laborers,  grisettes,  saint  and  vagabond,  all 


128  EDITH'S  MINI?  TRY. 

dwelling  beneath  the  same  roof;  and  although  in  no  way  inter- 
fering with  each  other,  yet  the  consciousness  was  annoying  to 
her  delicate  and  retiring  habits.  On  the  next  day,  Madame 
D'Ouville  called,  accompanied  by  her  daughters,  aged  eighteen 
and  sixteen.  They  were  fine  specimens  of  an  intelligent  French 
family ;  still  the  air  of  high  fashion  and  French  elegance, 
which  distinguished  their  dress  and  carriage,  told  that  they 
were  "  of  the  earth,  earthy."  They  spoke  of  many  places  of 
public  amusement,  to  which  they  invited  Mrs.  Clifford  and  her 
family,  who  politely  declined  attendance  upon  any  which  she 
could  not  frequent  in  her  own  land.  "  When  in  Rome,  to  do 
as  Rome  does,"  was  not  her  maxim  of  Christian  morality. 

It  was  her  wish  that  her  children  should  visit  interesting 
places  in  Paris,  provided  that  their  characters  were  not  injured 
thereby.  At  an  early  hour  on  the  next  day  Madame  D'Ouvill< 
called  in  her  carriage,  to  take  our  travellers  out  to  ride  in  the 
garden  of  the  Tuilleries.  They  were  much  struck  with  itb 
extent  and  beauty,  as  nothing  in  their  own  country  can  at  all 
compare  with  its  elegance.  To  the  west  of  the  Imperial  Palace 
the  gardens  were  elegantly  laid  out  with  gravelled  walks,  ter- 
races, plots  of  flowers,  exquisite  shrubbery,  groves  of  splendid 
trees,  and  basins  of  water,  interspersed  with  beautiful  statues  in 
bronze  and  marble.  Numbers  of  elegant  equipages  were  driv- 
ing through  the  grounds,  and  everywhere  groups  of  gaily- 
dressed  persons  were  enjoying  the  refreshing  shade. 

"  Look,  Blanche !"  said  Adele ;  "  I  wonder  if  that  is  not  the 
Emperor?  It  is  a  magnificent  carriage,  and  there  are  several 
outriders." 

"  C'est  1'Erapereur,"  replied  Madame  D'Ouville. 

His  carriage  was  attended  by  a  guard  of  cavalry,  and  on 
drawing  near,  it  was  perceived  that  the  Empress  and  the  young 
Prince  were  riding  with  his  majesty..  The  young  girls  had  an 
excellent  opportunity  of  seeing  the  Emperor  as  he  passed. 
Mrs.  Clifford  thought  that  he  looked  stern  and  care-worn  ; 
which  might  well  be  imagined  concerning  one  who  felt  that  his 
life  was  never  safe  among  his  oppressed  subjects.  The  Em- 
press fully  realized  all  the  descriptions  of  beauty,  which  they 


PRINCIPLES   TRIED.  129 

had  so  often  heard;  and  the  young  Prince se  jmed  like  all  other 
little  boys,  light-hearted  and  joyous. 

"  Est-il  airne  ?"     (Is  he  beloved  ?)  asked  Mrs.  Clifford. 

"  Non,  raadame,  cela  ne  peut  pas  etre,  il  est  trop  craint  pour 
etre  aime ;  si  ce  n'etait  pas  pour  le  despotisme  cle  fer  qu'il  a 
e'tabli,  il  ne  saurait  garder  son  trone."  (No,  madam,  that 
cannot  be ;  he  is  too  much  feared  to  be  beloved.  Were  it  not 
for  the  strong  iron  despotism  which  he  has  established,  he  could 
not  keep  his  throne.) 

"  II  parait  populaire  dans  la  classe  ouvriere."  (He  seems 
popular  among  the  working  classes),  answered  Mrs.  Clifford. 

"II  s'arrange  de  maniere  a  les  tenir  tranquillesen  leur  don- 
nant  assez  d'ouvrage  et  beaucoup  de  fetes,  et  les  Francais  tant 
qu'on  les  amuse,  ne  s'inquietent  guere  des  affaires  de  1'etat.'' 
(He  manages  to  keep  them  quiet  by  plenty  of  employment  and 
numerous  fetes;  and  while  the  French  have  amusements,  they 
do  not  trouble  themselves  much  about  the  affairs  of  govern- 
ment,) replied  Madame  D'Ouville. 

Ere  they  returned,  they  drove  through  the  Champs  Elysees, 
a  favorite  park  in- the  western  part  of  the  city.  Walks  are  laid 
out  in  various  parts  of  these  fields,  where  superb  national  fetes 
are  given,  on  which  occasions  the  trees  are  brilliantly  illumi- 
nated. They  were  particularly  struck  by  the  multitudes  Avhom 
they  met  in  these  parks,  and  could  not  but  mark  the  contrast 
between  the  care-worn,  anxious  countenances  of  Americans  of 
the  same  class,  all  in  pursuit  of  gain,  and  the  light-hearted  step, 
and  cheerful,  animated  countenances  of  the  pleasure-seeking 
Parisians. 

In  the  evening  they  visited  the  Boulevards,  and  were  quite 
bewildered  by  the  scene  of  enchantment  which  met  their  gaze. 
One,  on  account  of  its  nearness  to  the  Italian  Opera,  is  called 
Le  Boulevard  des  Italians.  Multitudes  of  gaily  dressed  people, 
were  sauntering  through  its  paths,  while  parties  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen  were  sitting  beneath  the  trees,  sipping  coffee,  lemon- 
ade, or  liqueurs.  The  air  was  filled  with  music,  and  the  mag- 
nificent buildings  on  either  side  as  brilliantly  illuminated  as  if 
on  some  great  occasion.  Our  young  friends  could  scarcely 
9 


130  EDITH 

realize  that  this  was  just  an  ordinary  evening,  so  full  of  gayety 
and  animation  was  the  whole  scene.  Madge  was  silent  with 
Avonder;  Blanche  and  Adele  brimful  of  excitement;  and  Edith 
could  easily  imagine,  with  so  much  to  captivate  the  senses,  how 
people  could  forget  God. 

When  they  returned  to  their  lodgings,  Blanche  and  Adele 
rattled  on  merrily  about  what  they  had  seen,  until  Mrs.  Clifford, 
warning  them  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  after  their  evening 
devotions,  dismissed  them  to  their  own  room. 

Madame  D'Ouville  called  the  next  day,  \vith  an  inAritation  for 
the  young  ladies  to  come  out  and  spend  a  few  days  with  them. 
Mrs.  Clifford  granted  permission,  but  Edith  declined,  not  wish- 
ing to  leave  her  mother  so  long. 

"Remember,  my  daughters,"  said  the  anxious  mother,  "that 
you  have  had  a  Christian  education,  and  do  not  conform  to 
anything  which  you  have  been  taught  to  avoid." 

Madge,  although  not  decidedly  religious,  had  a  character 
and  opinions  of  her  own.  Blanche  followed  the  stream  nearest 
to  her  ;  and  Adele,  though  generally  thoughtless,  did  not  alto- 
gether forget  her  mother's  instructions.  On  -their  first  day  at 
Madame  D'Ouville's,  a  servant  announced  M.  Le  Brun,  a 
cousin  of  the  young  ladies. 

"O!  que  j'en  suis  contente,"  said  Celeste.  "Mais  je  ne  puis 
pas  descendre  avant  que  ma  gouvernante  vienne."  (Oh  !  how 
glad  I  am !  But  I  must  not  go  down  stairs  until  my  governess 
is  ready.) 

"  Pourquoi  pas  ?"  (Why  not  ?)  said  Adele. 

"  Parcequ'il  n'est  pas  perm  is  a  une  demoiselle  de  se  trouver 
seule  avec  un  monsieur."  (Because  it  is  never  allowed  for  a 
young  girl  to  see  a  gentleman  alone.) 

"Quoi!  pas  meme  avec  sen  propre  cousin?"  (What!  not 
even  your  cousin  ?)  said  Adele. 

"  Non,  vraiment,  il  ne  nous  est  jamais  permis  de  nous  trouA'er 
dans  la  societe  des  messieurs,  avant  de  nour  marier."  (No, 
indeed,  we  are  never  allowed  to  associate  with  gentlemen  until 
we  are  married)  answered  Celeste. 

"  C'est  une  drole  d'habitude ;  les  jeunes  personnes  en  Ameri- 


PRINCIPLES    TRIED.  131 

que  ne  sont  pas  snjettes  a  cette  espece  de  gene ;  ce  sont  les 
dames  mariees  qui  maintiennent  la  reserve."  (That  is  a  strange 
custom)  said  Madge.  (In  America,  there  are  no  such  re- 
straints upon  young  people ;  the  reserve  there  is  among  the 
married  people.) 

When  the  governess  was  ready,  the  young  ladies  entered  the 
drawing-room,  and  with  a  timid,  constrained  manner,  addressed 
their  cousin.  The  utmost  ceremony  was  observed  during  the 
interview,  and  the  young  Cliffords  drew  a  rapid  contrast 
between  this,  and  the  frank,  genial  intercourse  between  them- 
selves and  Gerald  and  Frank  in  their  own  home.  In  the  pre- 
sence of  their  parents,  the  utmost  demureness  was  preserved  by 
the  young  D'Ouvilles,  but  when  alone,  their  conversation 
proved  that  the  espionage  of  a  French  boarding-school  had  not 
been  sufficient  to  guard  their  secret  thoughts,  or  to  prevent 
them  from  obtaining  information  and  indulgences,  more  eagerly 
sought,  because  so  strictly  forbidden. 

The  next  day,  Madge  asked  the  young  girls  to  go  out  to 
walk.  They  looked  horror  struck. 

"  Quoi,  seule !  Ici,  une  demoiselle  n'est  jamais  seule." 
(What,  alone !  Such  a  thing  is  never  heard  of  here  among 
young  girls.) 

"  N'etes  vous  jamais  seule  ?"  (Are  you  never  alone  ?)  asked 
Adele. 

"Non  ;  si  nous  sortons,  c'est  toujours  avec  notre  maman,  ou 
avec  notre  gouvernante.  Si  nous  aliens  a  1'eglise,  on  nous 
surveille,  si  nous  avons  des  visites  on  nous  surveille;  notre 
gouvernante  couche  meme  dans  notre  chambre,  parceque 
maman  dit,  que  nous  pourrions  parler  inconvenablement  les 
lines  avec  les  autres."  (No,  if  we  go  out,  it  is  with  our  mother 
or  governess ;  if  we  go  to  church,  we  are  watched,  if  we  have 
company,  we  are  watched,  and  our  governess  even  sleeps  in 
our  room,  because  mamma  says  that  we  may  talk  improperly 
to  each  other.) 

"  Combien  cela  dure-t-il?"     (How  long  does  all  this  last?) 

"  Jusqu'a  ce  que  nous  nous  marions,  alors  nous  pouvons  aller 
pu  nous  voulons,  it  avoir  autant  d'admirateurs  que  bon  nous 


132  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

semble."  (Until  we  are  married;  then  we  can  go  where 
we  please,  and  have  as  many  admirers  as  we  want)  replied 
Celeste. 

"  Alors,  je  suppose  que  vous  avez  bien  en  vie  de  vous 
marier?  (Then  I  suppose  that  you  are  very  anxious  to  be 
married  ?)  said  Madge. 

"  Certaineraent,  il  nous  tarde  de  sortir  de  prison ;  et  souvent 
on  nous  marie  avec  des  personnes  que  nous  n'avons  vues  qu'une 
ou  deux  fois."  (Yes,  indeed,  we  like  to  get  out  of  prison,  and 
we  often  marry  persons  whom  we  have  not  seen  perhaps  more 
than  once  or  twice.) 

"  Cela  nous  parait  horrible,  a  nous  autres  Americaines, 
Celeste  ;  je  crains  qu'il  n'y  ait  pas  beaucoup  d'amour  dans  un 
tel  mariage."  (That  seems  very  dreadful  to  us  Americans, 
Celeste.  I  should  be  afraid  that  there  was  not  much  love  in 
such  a  marriage)  answered  Madge. 

"  Eh  bien  !"  ("Oh  well)  said  Celeste.  "  L'amour  pourra 
venir  apres ;  beaucoup  de  dames  mariees  dans  Paris,  ont  des 
adinirateurs."  (The  love  may  come  afterwards.  It  is  a  very 
common  thing  for  married  ladies  to  have  their  admirers 
in  Paris.) 

Madge  listened  amazed,  and  replied  in  tones  of  indignation  : 
"Estil  possible  que  vous  puissiez  parler  si  legerement  d'un 
etat  si  saint!"  (Can  it  be  possible  that  you  can  really  speak 
so  lightly  of  such  a  holy  state !) 

Celeste  looked  up  surprised  in  her  turn,  for  she  had  so  long 
been  accustomed  to  hear  such  sentiments  that  they  were  now 
familiar  household  words.  From  that  moment  Madge  shrank 
away  from  intimacy  with  Celeste  D'Ouville. 

Thus  early  had  the  pernicious  influence  of  a  false  education 
began  its  work  upon  the  young  heart ;  and  thus  firmly  did  the 
cultivated  instincts  of  Madge  Clifford  repel  the  darts  of  evil 
principles.  Accustomed  to  the  rigors  of  a  constant  degrading 
system  of  espionage  and  suspicion,  instead  of  confidence 
blended  with  moral  instruction,  these  young  French  girls  had 
learned  most  eagerly  to  covet  that  which  was  constantly 
denied,  and  had  already  been  privately  engaged  in  secret 


PRINCIPLES    THIED.  133 

correspondence  with  youth  of  both  sexes,  hiring  servants  to 
carry  their  letters,  and  thus  daily  growing  in  habits  of  decep- 
tion. When  out  walking  one  day  with  the  young  Americans, 
on  the  Boulevards,  Madge  perceived  a  very  handsome  youth 
approaching  their  party.  As  he  drew  near,  glances  of  recog- 
nition passed  between  him  and  Celeste,  while  she  rapidly 
placed  her  finger  on  her  lip,  and  pointed  to  a  statue  near. 
The  youth  understood  the  signal,  and  quickly  deposited  some- 
thing at  the  foot  of  the  statue.  Madge  perceived  that  Celeste  as 
quickly  snatched  a  note  from  the  statue,  and  rapidly  kissing 
her  hand  to  the  youth,  led  him  to  understand  that  she  had 
received  it.  All  this  passed  in  one  minute,  and  Madge  saw  at 
a  glance  what  an  adept  in  deception  Celeste  had  become. 
When  alone,  she  frequently  described  to  the  young  girls  how 
their  teachers  used  to  watch  them  when  at  Madame  Fontain's 
pensionnaire.  In  the  garden,  in  the  entries,  on  the  staircase, 
in  the  school-room,  in  the  bed-room,  everywhere  the  teacher's 
hateful  eye  was  watching  all  their  movements;  but  she 
laughed,  when  she  told  in  how  many  ways  they  had  contrived 
to  deceive  them,  and  how  much  had  been  practised  there  that 
Madge  never  dreamed  of.  And  yet  these  are  the  schools  and 
this  is  the  system  which  are  frequently  chosen  by  American 
parents,  in  order  to  learn  the  French  language,  and  be 
rendered  more  graceful  by  French  polish.  In  America,  both 
sexes  are  allowed  to  mix  freely  together.  In  France,  they  are 
studiously  kept  apart.  In  America,  a  good  judicious  mother 
relies  upon  the  precepts  of  morality  and  religion,  which  she 
has  early  instilled  in  her  daughter's  heart.  In  France,  girls 
are  more  carefully  screened  from  outward  evils.  The  legal 
rule  is  to  deem  every  one  innocent,  until  pronounced  guilty  ; 
in  France,  the  reverse  is  taught,  and  education  conducted 
accordingly.  Let  the  general  results  of  the  two  systems  be 
proofs  of  their  adaptation  to  produce  the  end  desired.  Com- 
pare the  general  tone  of  morals  in  America  and  in  France,  and 
the  hundreds  of  unfaithful,  unholy  marriages  occurring  there, 
aud  sanctioned  by  all  classes,  will  answer  at  once.  The  actions 
of  a  young  American  girl,  properly  educated,  which  would  be 


134  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

counted  only  as  innocent  among  us,  would  ruin  the  character  of 
a  young  French  girl.  And  on  the  contrary,  no  American 
matron  could  escape  censure,  if  following  the  example  of  a 
French  wife.  The  American  system  certainly  allows  too  much 
latitude,  and  exercises  too  little  discipline,  but  it  tends  more 
to  preserve  the  young  from  habits  of  falsehood  and  hypocrisy. 

Celeste  and  Laurine  D'Ouville  were  true  specimens  of  a 
fashionable  French  education.  They  had  passed  their  early 
days  in  a  French  pensionnaire,  where  they  had  been  outwardly 
restrained  and  watched,  stimulated  unwisely  by  rewards  and 
prizes ;  highly  polished,  but  morally  neglected  ;  and  as  to  their 
religious  training,  it  ended  in  a  few  senseless  forms.  Their 
code  of  morals  allowed  of  lies  of  convenience,  politeness  and 
policy ;  and  the  young  Cliffords  were  amazed  when  they 
observed  not  only  the  young  girls,  but  their  governess  also, 
departing  constantly  from  what  they  had  been  accustomed  to 
regard  as  sincerity  and  truth.  One  striking  instance  occurred 
under  their  notice.  Madam  D'Ouville  had  just  purchased  a 
new  hat,  which  Adele  thought  very  unbecoming,  and  which 
she  had  heard  ridiculed  by  the  governess,  Mademoiselle  Du 
Pont.  What  was  her  surprise,  when  entering  the  saloon,  to 
hear  that  lady  exclaiming, — 

"  Voila  un  chapeau  charmant !  il  vous  va  a  ravir,  Madame." 
(What  a  charming  bonnet!  you  look  lovely,  Madam.) 

Celeste,  turning  to  Adele,  said,  "  Ne  pensez  vous  pas  qu'il 
est  bien  joli  ?"  (Do  you  not  think  it  very  pretty  ?) 

Adele,  accustomed  to  speak  the  truth  always,  and  yet  not 
wishing  to  be  impolite,  replied,  "  Dispensez-moi,  Celeste,  de 
dire  ce  que  je  pense."  (Excuse  me,  Celeste,  from  saying 
what  I  think.) 

The  young  French  girl  elevated  her  eyes,  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  and  replied,  "  Que  vous  etes  malhonnete !"  (What 
a  rude  girl!) 

Blanche,  always  anxious  to  please,  said,  "  Je  ne  suis  pas  de 
votre  avis,  ma  soeur,  je  trouve  que  le  chapeau  lui  va  parfaite- 
ment  bien."  (I  do  not  agree  with  my  sister,  and  think  that 
the  hat  is  very  becoming.) 


PRINCIPLES   TRIED.  135 

Adele  looked  displeased,  because  she  had  heard  Blanche 
also  ridicule  the  article ;  but,  knowing  her  sister's  failing,  she 
was  not  surprised. 

Wishing  to  make  the  young  girls'  visit  as  pleasant  as  pos- 
sible, Madame  D'Ouville  sent  out  invitations  for  a  select  party 
to  meet  the  strangers.  Accordingly,  Edith  and  her  sisters 
were  invited.  The  former  politely  declined,  fearing  that  the 
amusements  would  be  such  as  she  had  solemnly  renounced  on 
the  day  of  her  confirmation.  She  had  not  forgotten  the  deep 
import  of  those  two  small  words,  "  I  do,"  when  asked  if  she 
renewed  the  solemn  vows  of  baptism.  Madge,  never  particu- 
larly interested  in  scenes  of  gayety,  was  still  led  on  by  curi- 
osity to  make  one  of  the  party.  Adele  and  Blanche,  both 
fond  of  the  world  and  its  amusements,  looked  forward  with 
delight  to  the  evening. 

A  large  company  of  elegantly  dressed  young  persons 
assembled  at  the  hotel  of  M.  D'Ouville,  and  everything  was 
conducted  in  the  most  fashionable  style.  Never  having  been 
taught  the  accomplishment  of  dancing,  Adele  declined ;  but 
Blanche,  who  had  learned  from  some  of  her  young  compan- 
ions, joined  with  great  zest  in  all  the  amusements  of  the  even- 
ing. They  observed  in  an  adjoining  room,  tables  spread  out 
as  if  for  cards,  and  were  shocked  on  observing  many  young 
persons  take  their  seats,  and  with  the  utmost  nonchalance, 
enter  into  these  games,  even  playing  for  money,  and  exhibit- 
ing the  greatest  eagerness  to  win  the  small  piles  of  money 
staked  on  the  game.  Though  not  influenced  by  religious 
principle,  still  Adele  had  too  much  regard  for  the  lessons  of 
her  home  to  join  in  such  amusements.  But  Blanche,  too 
weak  to  resist,  even  against  the  whispers  of  her  conscience, 
allowed  herself  not  only  to  be  led  to  the  tables,  but  endeavored 
to  learn  the  game.  Her  exceeding  beauty  drew  around  her 
many  youthful  admirers,  and  both  Madge  and  Adele  were 
disturbed  by  the  character  of  the  scene  in  which  they  found 
themselves  placed.  They  felt  that  their  mother  would  disap- 
prove of  the  whole  thing,  and  wondered  why  Madame  D'Ouville 
should  have  made  such  an  entertainment  for  girls  so  young  as 


136  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

themselves.  Blanche  was  completely  intoxicated ;  the  dress,  the 
lights,  the  praise  and  flattery,  almost  turned  her  young  brain, 
and  she  began  to  think  that  she  was  too  closely  confined  at 
home. 

Celeste  and  Laurine  gave  her  glowing  accounts  of  the 
French  Opera,  and  she  felt  an  intense  desire  to  see  one  of 
these  entertainments.  A  party  was  accordingly  formed,  and 
our  young  friends  urged  to  go.  Madge  and  Adele  both  re- 
fused, although  they  were  anxious  to  make  one  of  the  com- 
pany. Blanche  was  silent.  When  they  retired  for  the  night, 
Celeste  said  to  Mile.  Du  Pont,  "Ne  pourrions  nous  pas  faire 
en  sorte  que  Blanche  aille  a  1'Opera  ?"  (Can't  we  get  Blanche 
to  the  Opera  ?) 

" Mais  oui,"  replied  Mademoiselle,  "si  elle  peut  garder  le 
secret;  nous  n'irons  pas  ce  soir  la,  nous  le  remettrons  au 
lendemain,  et  puis  nous  ferons  semblant  d'aller  quelqu'  autre 
part,  Marguerite  et  Adele  doivent  aller  chez  elles,  faire  visits 
a  leur  mere,  et  si  Blanche  veut  garder  le  secret,  nous  nous 
arrangerons  de  maniere  que  sa  mere,  n'en  sache  jamais  rien." 
(I  think  we  can,  replied  Mademoiselle,  if  she  can  keep  a 
secret.  "We  will  not  go  on  the  evening  appointed,  but  will  put 
it  off  until  the  next  evening,  and  then  pretend  to  go  somewhere 
else.  Madge  and  Adele  are  going  home  to  see  their  mother, 
and  if  Blanche  will  keep  her  own  secret,  we  can  manage 
it,  and  her  mother  will  never  know  anything  about  it.) 

"  C'est  dommage,"  said  Celeste,  "  qu'elle  soit  privee  d'  un  si 
grand  plaisir,  pour  un  sot  caprice  de  sa  mere."  (It  seems  a 
pity,  said  Celeste,  that  she  should  be  deprived  of  such  a  plea- 
sure by  such  a  foolish  whim  of  her  mother.) 

It  was  proposed  to  Blanche,  who,  in  her  anxiety  to  partake  of 
the  pleasure,  forgot  the  pain  which  such  conduct  would  give 
her  mother,  and  consented  to  the  plan. 

On  the  evening  appointed,  Madge  and  Adele  returned  home. 
Blanche  remained,  and  so  soon  as  the  coast  was  clear,  started, 
in  one  of  Laurine's  suits  to  the  opera.  It  could  not  be  said 
that  she  enjoyed  herself,  for  the  remembrance  of  her  sweet 
mother's  pale  face  haunted  her,  and  she  could  not  wholly  forget 


PRINCIPLES    TRIED.  137 

her  gentle  admonition.  She  would  not,  however,  allow  her 
feelings  to  be  manifest,  for  fear  of  incurring  the  sharp  ridicule 
of  Celeste  and  M'lle  Du  Pont. 

When  they  returned  from  the  opera,  Madge  and  Adele  were 
already  in  waiting,  and  wondered  what  kept  the  party  out  so 
long.  When  Blanche  entered  the  room,  she  was  very  silent, 
and  her  sisters  strongly  suspected  that  there  was  some  reason 
for  concealment.  They  could  scarcely  have  believed  that 
Blanche  would  have  practised  such  falsehood. 

When  Sunday  arived,  Madame  D'Ouville  invited  the  girls 
to  accompany  her  to  church.  Madge  and  Adele,  in  accordance 
with  their  mother's  wishes,  declined,  and,  therefore,  attended 
Protestant  services  with  their  mother  and  Edith.  Blanche 
was  so  much  enchanted  with  her  new  friends,  and  so  anxious 
to  secure  their  good  opinion,  that  she  spared  no  pains  to  please 
them.  We  will  behold  her  entering  the  church,  crossing  herself 
as  the  rest  did,  making  the  sign  of  adoration,  and  in  all  things 
conforming  to  the  ceremonies  of  the  Romish  Church.  She  was 
struck  on  observing  so  many  of  the  stores  opened  on  the  Sab- 
bath-day ;  streets  thronged  with  gaily -dressed  people ;  the  public 
squares  filled,  where  all  kinds  of  amusement  were  going  on. 
The  places  of  public  resort  were  everywhere  thrown  open, 
and  after  twelve  o'clock,  persons  of  all  classes  were  seeking 
their  own  pleasure  on  God's  most  holy  day. 

After  dinner,  Madame  D'Ouville  proposed  a  ride  to  the 
Tuilleries.  Blanche  was  ready  to  accompany  the  party.  On 
observing  that  they  were  about  to  visit  a  public  museum  on 
their  return  home,  notwithstanding  the  force  of  early  education, 
for  the  sake  of  pleasing  French  friends,  she  consented,  and  thus 
passed  her  Sabbath-day  in  Paris. 

None  could  have  perceived  any  indications  of  the  Sabbath 
in  this  God-forgetting  city.  Just  the  same  gayety,  and  even 
more  devotion  to  pleasure,  was  still  more  manifest  than  on 
ordinary  days.  Indeed,  Sunday  in  Paris  is  but  a  holiday. 

Blanche  allowed  herself  to  be  carried  along  with  the  stream. 
Observing  her  evident  enjoyment,  no  one  could  have  supposed 
that  she  could  have  had  a  religious  education.  On  her  visits 


138  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

home,  Edith  perceived  that  her  head  was  almost  turned  by  the 
scenes  through  which  she  had  been  passing,  and  consequently, 
begged  that  she  might  be  brought  back  to  the  shelter  of  her 
family.  Mrs.  Clifford  was  sadly  distressed  when  observing  so 
many  instances  of  her  beautiful  child's  weakness  of  character ; 
for  she  was  well  aware  that  her  personal  charms  must  weave 
around  her  young  footsteps  many  entanglements.  She  could 
not  rest  until  Blanche  was  once  more  under  the  maternal  roof; 
and  although  the  young  lady  would  have  prolonged  her  stay 
still  further,  on  the  following  morning  she  to,ok  leave  of  her 
friends. 

After  staying  a  few  more  days  in  Paris,  the  travellers  pre- 
pared to  prosecute  their  journey,  and  set  out  with  high  expec- 
tations of  romantic  Switzerland. 

Edith,  fortified  by  religious  principles,  had  passed  the  ordeal 
of  life  in  Paris  unharmed.  Madge  and  Adele  were  glad  of  the 
prospect  of  a  change,  but  Blanche  was  full  of  childish  sorrow, 
at  the  thoughts  of  leaving  her  dear  Parisian  friends. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AMONG    THE    MOUNTAINS. 

UR  travellers  enjoyed  their  journey,  for  their 
spirits  were  greatly  enlivened  by  the  manifest 
improvement  of  the  dear  mother  of  the  flock. 

Edith  wanted  nothing  but  Gerald's  society  to 
make  her  delight  complete.  Madge  was  en- 
chanted, and  Blanche  and  Adele  sported  among 
the  fair  scenes,  with  all  the  warm  enthusiasm  of 
early  youth. 

Up  the  mountain  side,  down  through  charming  valleys,  and 
along  the  borders  of  the  lakes  of  Switzerland,  they  pursued 
their  way  by  slow  journeys,  always  in  sight  of  the  lofty  Alps, 
which  were  sometimes  dressed  in  green  verdure,  and  enlivened 
by  the  picturesque  chalets  dotted  about  on  the  mountain 
slopes,  around  which  grazed  flocks  of  sheep,  nibbling  the 
fresh  pastures ;  at  others,  towering  away  in  loneliness  towards 
the  heavens,  their  snowy  peaks  glistening  in  the  sunshine, 
or  at  sunset,  tinged  with  rosy  hues,  gradually  darkening 
towards  the  descent,  until  the  shadows  of  evening  falling 
gloomily  upon  their  base,  threw  their  dark  veil  over  some  dusky 
Inke,  sleeping  in  the  deep  stillness  of  mountain  solitude. 

An  event  soon  transpired,  which  was  likely  to  detain  them 
some  time  among  the  mountains.  Travelling  in  a  French 
diligence,  they  were  driving  more  rapidly  than  usual  down  a 
steep  hill.  The  postilion  seemed  careless,  and  Mr.  Clifford 

139 


140  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

soon  perceived  that  he  was  intoxicated.  He  called  out  re- 
peatedly to  arrest  his  speed,  but  it  was  all  in  vain  ;  crack 
went  the  whip,  and  down  flew  the  horses.  Mr.  Clifford  saw 
that  an  upset  was  almost  inevitable.  He  attempted  to  seize 
the  reins,  but  could  not,  consequently  he  did  the  next 
best  thing,  which  was  to  endeavor  to  calm  his  family.  Reach- 
ing the  foot  of  the  hill,  the  diligence  struck  violently  against  a 
rock,  and  was  upset  almost  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  Mr. 
Clifford  was  thrown  out,  and  fell  down  the  deep  ravine.  The 
rest  of  the  family  were  but  slightly  injured.  Edith  and  Miss 
Arnold  flew  to  the  help  of  the  injured  man,  but  finding,  in 
their  despair,  that  they  could  not  reach  him,  they  looked 
anxiously  around  for  help.  The  postilion  having  succeeded 
in  fastening  the  horses,  was  now  pretty  well  sobered,  and  with 
the  help  of  a  companion  who  rode  outside,  succeeded  in  bring- 
ing Mr.  Clifford  out  of  his  perilous  situation.  Placing  him  on 
the  roadside,  they  soon  found  that  he  was  unable  to  move,  and 
from  his  groans,  judged  that  he  was  severely  injured. 

Edith  remembered  having  passed  a  charming  village  about 
half  a  mile  distant,  and  in  company  with  Miss  Arnold,  they 
turned  back,  and  found  that  there  was  a  small  hotel  on  the 
border  of  the  lake,  where  they  could  obtain  shelter  and 
medical  advice. 

Stating  the  particulars  of  the  accident  they  returned  with  a 
litter,  borne  by  two  men,  on  which  they  placed  Mr.  Clifford,  and 
the  rest  of  the  party  proceeded  on  foot,  directing  the  postilion 
to  follow  with  their  baggage.  Glad  to  obtain  lodging  at  a 
hotel,  a  messenger  was  soon  despatched  for  a  physician,  who 
pronounced  the  leg  broken.  Finding  that  it  was  impossible  to 
proceed  farther,  they  engaged  rooms,  and  made  preparations  for 
tarrying  some  weeks  among  the  mountains.  After  the  limb 
was  carefully  set  they  sought  their  rest ;  and  at  an  early  hour 
the  next  morning,  were  awakened  by  the  bleating  of  the  sheep, 
and  the  sound  of  the  shepherd's  horn,  calling  out  the  flocks  to 
their  mountain  pasture.  Edith  and  Madge  occupied  the  same 
room,  and  both  being  equally  anxious  to  see  sunrise  on  the 
mountains,  M  ere  up  betimes. 


AMONG   THE    MOUNTAINS.  141 

The  village  was  built  upon  the  sides  and  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain.  The  picturesque  cottages,  the  church  with  its  spire, 
the  rich  foliage,  and  the  placid  lake,  all  formed  beautiful  pic- 
tures in  the  landscape ;  but  the  mountains !  the  glorious  moun- 
tains !  held  them  in  speechless  delight.  First  appeared  the 
faint  blush  of  the  rosy  morning,  tinging  the  snowy  peaks ;  as 
the  sun  rose  higher  and  higher,  his  bright  rays  crept  down  the 
sides  of  the  mountains,  illumining  the  whole  landscape,  bringing 
out  trees,  cottages,  and  flocks  of  sheep,  conducted  by  their 
shepherds  to  their  early  pasture.  The  Alpine  horn,  the  bleat- 
ing of  the  sheep,  and  the  song  of  the  Switzer,  rendered  the 
morning  air  vocal  with  music,  and  Edith  turning  to  Madge, 
said : 

"Oh!  what  would  Gerald  give  to  see  such  a  glorious  pros- 
pect !" 

"You  remember,  Edith,  what  he  said  about  visiting  Europe. 
I  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  is  with  us  this  fall.  You  know 
he  leaves  college,  this  term,  and  as  he  is  to  be  an  artist,  this  is 
just  the  place  for  him." 

Edith  smiled  brightly,  as  she  replied,  "  That  would  be  de- 
lightful, to  have  Gerald  with  us.  Perhaps  he  intends  a  pleasant 
surprise  for  us." 

After  their  morning  devotions,  the  young  girls  set  off  for  a 
walk  before  breakfast,  and  came  in,  glowing  with  health  and 
exercise,  to  join  the  family  group  around  the  table.  Mr.  Clif- 
ford had  passed  a  restless  night.  The  affectionate  wife  was 
solicitous  and  sad ;  but  their  physician  assured  them  that  all 
was  proceeding  as  well  as  they  could  ask,  and  Mrs.  Clifford 
endeavored  to  be  reconciled. 

Miss  Arnold  soon  laid  out  her  plans  for  daily  employment. 
The  girls  resumed  their  studies,  and  devoted  two  hours  each 
day  to  their  mental  improvement.  Soon  after  their  arrival,  the 
good  pastor  of  the  village,  M.  Armand,  having  heard  of  their 
accident,  called  to  see  them.  He  was  a  fine  old  patriarch,  with 
white  hair,  and  a  placid  smile,  full  of  the  benevolence  of  his 
heart.  Having  lost  his  wife,  his  daughter  and  grandchild  lived 
with  the  old  man.  Marietta  was  a  sweet  girl  of  fourteen* 


142  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Dressed  in  her  Swiss  costume,  she  was  an  object  of  great  curi- 
osity to  Blanche  and  Adele ;  and  on  account  of  her  guileless 
manners,  of  much  interest  to  Mrs.  Clifford. 

M.  Armand's  conversation  breathed  that  strain  of  earnest 
piety,  which  Mrs.  Clifford  had  always  looked  for  among  the 
descendants  of  the  good  Waldenses;  and  she  was  peculiarly 
thankful  that  her  stay  was  to  be  comforted  by  the  visits  of  the 
godly  pastor. 

"  Have  you  a  large  flock  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Clifford. 

"  Not  very,  madam,  for  even  in  modern  days  we  have  been 
the  subjects  of  persecution,  and  many  of  our  people  who  were 
driven  from  us,  have  never  returned." 

"What  has  become  of  them?"  inquired  the  lady. 

"  Some  of  them  have  gone  into  the  towns  to  live ;  some  wear 
the  martyr's  crown  ;  and  some,  worn  out  by  hardship  and  sor- 
row, sleep  in  Jesus :  among  such  was  Amie,  my  wife ;  she  was 
a  tender  lamb,  and  soon  sank  beneath  the  oppressor." 

"  It  must  be  a  comfort  to  have  your  daughter  and  her  child," 
answered  Mrs.  Clifford. 

"  It  is  a  great  mercy,"  said  the  aged  man,  raising  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  in  humble  gratitude.  "  They  are  an  unspeakable  com- 
fort. My  daughter  is  a  solid  Christian,  and  as  for  Marietta, 
my  pet  lamb,  she  knows  her  old  grandfather  loves  her." 
Drawing  near,  she  took  his  aged  hands  in  her  own,  and  kissing 
them,  said,  "  Dear  grandfather,  who  could  help  loving  you  ?" 
After  inviting  the  strangers  cordially  to  his  house  and  church, 
the  good  pastor  took  his  departure,  leaving  a  deep  impression 
of  the  sweetness  and  simplicity  of  his  piety  upon  all  the  party. 
As  Marietta  reached  the  door,  she  ran  back  to  her  young 
friends,  and,  in  the  guilelessness  of  her  heart,  she  whispered  to 
Blanche,  "Won't  you  let  me  kiss  you?  You  look  like  the  pic- 
ture of  an  angel."  Blanche,  blushing,  presented  her  cheek, 
and  the  young  girl  said,  "You  will  come  to  see  us,  soon,  won't 
you,  in  our  humble  home?" 

In  a  few  days,  they  returned  the  pastor's  visit.  It  was 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  they  found  the  family  at  their  even- 
ing meal.  They  were  kindly  invited  to  partake  with  them 


AMONG   THE   MOUNTAINS.  143 

of  their  evening  repast ;  but  declining,  they  remained  out  on 
the  front  porch,  until  after  supper. 

"Will  you  join  in  our  evening  worship?"  said  the  good 
pastor.  "It  is  our  custom  to  have  it  directly  after  supper, 
before  we  feel  drowsy."  Conducting  the  party  into  the 
family  sitting-room,  with  a  calm  and  serious  aspect  he 
opened  the  hymn-book,  and  Marietta,  taking  her  seat  at  a 
small  parlor  organ,  led  the  singing  in  a  very  sweet  and 
solemn  manner.  After  reading  a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  he 
engaged  in  a  warm  and  fervent  prayer,  in  which  the  youthful 
guests  were  kindly  remembered.  These  exercises  being  over, 
Marietta  sang  some  of  their  most  beautiful  Swiss  airs,  and 
Blanche  was  warm  in  her  expression  of  delight. 

"  How  do  you  spend  your  time,  Marietta?"  asked  Blanche. 

"  Oh  !  I  have  plenty  to  do.  In  summer  I  lead  the  sheep 
out  to  pasture,  and  aid  my  mother  in  family  cares ;  in  winter  I 
have  a  great  deal  to  do,  sewing  and  knitting  for  the  next  year, 
studying  to  improve  my  mind,  practising  on  the  organ,  and 
waiting  on  my  dear  grandfather." 

"  Will  you  take  us  with  you  out  on  the  mountains  ?"  said 
Adele. 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  you  go  with  me,"  answered 
Marietta,  "  but  you  must  wear  strong  shoes,  and  common 
clothes,  for  many  a  long  walk  do  I  have  to  take  sometimes  in 
very  rough  places,  after  my  flock." 

The  girls  frequently  joined  Marietta,  when  their  duties  for  the 
day  were  over,  and  enjoyed  the  freedom  of  this  pastoral  life  ex- 
ceedingly. Marietta  often  had  to  check  Adele  for  her  adven- 
turous spirit,  fearing  that  she  might  meet  with  some  accident. 
But  she  was  always  in  high  spirits  when  snuffing  the  free  moun- 
tain air;  and  bounding  along  by  the  side  of  Marietta,  it  was  a 
very  difficult  task  to  restrain  her  wild  gambols.  One  unusually 
bright  and  beautiful  morning  they  had  joined  Marietta  in  her 
daily  rambles.  Adele  wore  a  large  flat :  in  her  sport  she  had 
dressed  it  with  a  wreath  of  wild  flowers.  Over  her  shoulder, 
suspended  by  a  broad  blue  ribbon,  hung  her  guitar,— for  she 
often  took  her  instrument  with  her  to  enliven  these  rambles. 


144  EDITH'S  MINISTRY.  . 

Having  reached  a  fine  place  of  pasture,  where  the  sheep 
were  quietly  browsing,  they  all  seated  themselves  in  a  group  * 
on  the  green  grass.  Marietta  had  taught  Adele  several  of  her 
Swiss  melodies,  and  she,  in  her  turn,  had  taught  the  mountain 
maid  some  of  her  own  pretty  airs.  Entirely  unconscious  of 
the  presence  of  a  stranger,  they  sang  a  number  of  sweet  aira 
together,  while  Adele  accompanied  them  with  her  guitar.  Not 
far,  from  where  they  sat,  screened  from  their  sight  by  a  very 
large  tree,  sat  a  young  man,  deeply  interested  in  the  youthful 
party.  By  his  side  reposed  his  favorite  dog.  Suddenly  there 
was  some  movement  among  the  flock,  which  started  the  dog, 
and  before  his  master  could  prevent  it,  he  was  among  the 
frightened  sheep,  scattering  them  in  all  directions.  Up  sprang 
the  young  girls.  Adele  soon  perceived  that  the  animal  was  in 
pursuit  of  her  pet  lamb,  which  she  called  Patsy.  She  flew 
after  him  not  perceiving  a  chasm  which  the  lamb  had  crossed. 
The  young  man  aware  of  her  danger,  pursued  her,  calling 
out,  "  Stop,  Stop !  Come  back,  Tray  !"  but  she  flew  on,  alarmed 
at  the  voice  of  a  stranger.  Reaching  the  chasm,  she  gave 
one  spring  and  succeeded  in  landing  on  the  opposite  side ;  but 
fell,  in  the  effort,  to  the  ground. 

"  Are  you  not  hurt  ?"  said  the  youth,  as  he  stooped  to  raise 
Adele.  Blushing,  she  endeavored  to  arise,  but  could  not — her 
ankle  was  sprained.  Raising  her  eyes,  the  recognition  was 
mutual.  "  Do  I  not  see  the  water-nymph  of  Windermere, 
transformed  into  the  wild  shepherdess  of  the  Alps  ?"  said  the 
young  man,  while  a  mischievous  glance  sparkled  in  his  dark 
eyes.  Adele  smiled,  and  though  suffering  pain,  said,  "  That 
is  my  pursuit  at  present ;  but  I  am  ashamed  to  be  seen  so  often 
in  these  wild  moods." 

"  May  I  help  you  to  arise?"  said  the  youth. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Adele,  "  I  think  that  I  can  walk ;"  but 
on  making  the  attempt,  she  found  that  she  could  not  stand. 

"My  horse  is  not  far  off,"  replied  the  young  man  ;  "if  you 
will  accept  of  my  escort,  I  will  convey  you  to  your  home." 

"  I  think  that  I  shall  have  to  trouble  you,  sir,  for  I  feel  that 
I  cannot  walk." 


AMONG  THE   MOUNTAINS.  145 

In  a  short  time,  the  horse  was  brought  around,  Adele  placed 
upon  it,  and  his  master  led  him  gently  along,  conversing  pleas- 
antly as  they  proceeded.  When  they  had  reached  the  hotel, 
Mrs.  Clifford  was  surprised  and  pleased  to  see  once  more  the 
young  stranger  who  had  rescued  Adele  from  a  watery  grave. 
Presenting  his  card,  what  was  their  pleasure  and  surprise  to  find 
the  unknown  no  other  than  Lionel  Percy. 

"  Just  think,  Blanche,"  said  Adele,  "  that  we  should  have  met 
Mr.  Percy  again  !  How  pleasant  and  kind  he  is !  I  don't  won- 
der that  his  sisters  should  think  so  much  of  him ;  he  is  just  the 
one  to  be  proud  of." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Adele,  that  I  should  be  afraid  of  him,  if  he 
were  my  brother ;  he  has  such  bright  black  eyes  and  such  a  firm 
look  about  his  mouth.  I  should  be  much  more  proud  of  a 
brother  like  Gerald,"  answered  Blanche. 

Mrs.  Clifford  found  that  Mr.  Percy  was  travelling  with  his 
tutor,  and  that  having  Switzerland  in  their  route,  they  had  en- 
countered him  on  the  mountains,  where  he  was  staying  fora 
fuvv  \veeks.  Taking  up  his  abode  at  their  hotel,  he  was  a  plea- 
sant addition  to  their  company.  He  waggishly  named  Adele 
"  The  Shepherdess,"  and  soon  became  quite  intimate  with  the 
child.  Although  in  her  fifteenth  year,  she  was  peculiarly 
childish  and  sportive  in  her  disposition,  and  the  whole  ten- 
dency of  her  education  being  calculated  to  preserve  her  sim- 
plicity, her  intercourse  with  Lionel  Percy  was  frank,  sisterly, 
and  playful.  Confined  to  the  sofa  for  two  weeks,  her  tedious 
hours  were  pleasantly  beguiled,  by  visits  from  Marietta  and 
kind  attentions  from  Lionel. 

Mrs.  Clifford  esteemed  it  a  great  privilege  to  attend  upon 
the  ministry  of  M.  Armand.  The  simplicity  of  their  worship, 
and  the  purity  of  the  doctrines  which  she  heard  from  the  lips 
of  the  good  pastor,  were  like  refreshing  water  in  a  thirsty  land. 
Marietta  played  upon  the  organ,  and  her  simple,  touching  per- 
formance lent  peculiar  solemnity  to  the  Sabath  devotions. 

Shut  in  this  mountain  village,  there  were  some  delays  in  re- 
ceiving their  letters ;  but  as  they  had  left  particular  directions 
with  their  agent,  they  generally  received  them. 
10 


146  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Edith  had  begun  to  grow  somewhat  impatient,  not  having 
heard  from  Gerald  for  some  weeks ;  but  one  evening,  when  the 
servant  brought  in  a  package  for  Mr.  Clifford,  her  eager  eyes 
ran  over  the  letters,  and  soon,  with  glowing  cheeks,  she  recog- 
nized the  familiar  hand  of  dear  Gerald.  Seizing  her  letter, 
she  hastily  sought  her  room,  where  her  heart  beat  and  her  eye 
glistened  at  the  joyful  intelligence  it  contained. 

With  her  treasure  open,  she  ran  to  her  mamma's  room  ex- 
claiming, "  Dear  mamma,  Gerald  is  coming  in  the  fall ;  he  will 
meet  us  at  Pau.  Josephine  is  coming  also.  I  am  not  very  glad 
of  that  for  I  fear  her  influence  upon  Madge." 

"So  do  I,  Edith,"  answered  her  mother. 

"  Apart  from  Josephine,  I  think  that  Madge  might  lose  all 
her  foolish  notions  of  independence ;  but  with  Josephine  by  her 
side,  I  fear  a  return  of  her  old  folly." 

In  a  few  weeks,  Mr.  Clifford  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  re- 
sume his  journey.  Edith  and  Madge  were  sorry  to  leave  the 
"beautiful  mountains.  Blanche,  with  her  usually  yielding 
nature,  had  accommodated  herself  to  the  simple  habits  of  Mari- 
etta, and  one  might  have  thought,  to  judge  from  her  daily  con- 
duct, that  she  was  trying  to  imitate  her  childish  piety ;  indeed, 
her  young  heart  had  been  slightly  touched  by  the  sweet  example 
of  the  child,  but  new  scenes  and  associations  quickly  oblit- 
erated these  transient  impressions. 

Lionel  Percy  had  parted  from  them,  to  pursue  his  journey 
on  the  Continent,  but  as  he  had  an  aunt  living  in  New  York, 
he  promised,  at  some  future  time,  to  visit  America,  with  his 
sister  Clara. 

With  many  regrets,  the  family  parted  from  the  good  pastor 
and  his  lovely  grandchild,  and  as  he  laid  his  hand  in  solemn 
blessing  upon  the  head  of  Mrs.  Clifford,  he  felt  that  the  message 
had  gone  forth  that  would  ere  long  summon  the  Christian 
mother  from  her  flock,  and  he  sighed  as  he  thought  that  he 
should  see  the  sweet,  pale  face,  on  earth  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


SCENES  NEVER  TO  BE  FORGOTTEN. 

FTER  a  journey  of  several  weeks,  and  stopping  at 
many  noted  places,  early  in  October,  they  found 
themselves  in  sight  of  Pau,  a  town  in  the  south  of 
France,  celebrated  as  a  resort  for  invalids,  on 
account  of  its  mild,  balmy  climate,  at  all  seasons 
of  the  year.  Their  first  emotions  were  those  of 
disappointment ;  for,  viewing  the  landscape  through 
the  misty  atmosphere,  dull  leaden  clouds  obscured  all  the 
features  of  beauty  which  they  had  expected ;  but  suddenly  the 
sun  shone  out  revealing  a  charming  valley,  stretching  out  for 
leagues  in  splendid  forest  trees,  tinted  with  all  the  fading  hues 
of  autumn.  A  wide  river,  flowing  in  the  midst  of  the  lovely  pros- 
pect, dotted  with  green  islands,  where  the  plaintive  song  of  the 
nightingale  is  nightly  heard,  was  an  added  feature  of  beauty 
to  the  landscape ;  and  the  noise  of  the  foaming  waters  indicated 
the  mountain  source  from  which  it  flowed.  Capping  the  hilly 
eminences  opposite,  for  half  a  league  away,  lay  the  pretty  white 
and  tasteful  villas,  giving  life  and  animation  to  the  dusky  land- 
scape, where  the  chief  features  were  dark  and  sombre  trees. 
Beyond  all  this,  nothing  was  seen  for  a  while  but  masses  of 
heavy  clouds,  veiling  the  most  beautiful  features  of  the  land- 
scape. 

"  But  where  are  the  Pyrenees  ?"  said  Madge,  as  she  looked  in 

147 


148  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

vain  for  those  imposing  mountains.  "Surely,  those  low  hills 
cannot  be  mountains,  made  so  small  by  distance  ?" 

"While  endeavoring  to  pierce  the  hazy  atmosphere,  suddenly 
a  marvellous  change  occurred. 

"  Look !  look !"  said  Edith,  as  the  gray  wall  which  had 
really  shut  out  the  glorious  prospect,  began  to  melt  away. 

Rolling  and  quivering,  the  clouds  seemed  all  alive.  Sud- 
denly an  opening  appeared,  and  the  sun  darted  its  glittering 
beams  through  the  cleft  clouds,  and  revealed  a  snowy  peak, 
glistening  in  the  sunbeams.  The  landscape  increased  in  mag- 
nificence; the  opening  widened  more  and  more,  until  the  whole 
sky  was  rent  asunder,  and  there  appeared  mountain  after 
mountain,  each  higher  and  more  majestic,  until  the  whole  land- 
scape Avas  filled  with  forms  of  dazzling  grandeur. 

"Look,  Edith,"  exclaimed  Madge,  "at  that  range  of  moun- 
tains !  Was  there  ever  anything  so  grand  as  that  giant,  shooting 
up  so  abruptly  into  the  heavens  ?" 

"  Do  you  mark  the  effect  of  the  sun's  rays  beaming  down 
upon  them  ?"  answered  Edith.  "  The  clouds  resting  upon  them 
are  so  beautiful,  Madge,  they  seem  as  if  they  might  almost  be 
the  hills  upon  which  the  angelic  hosts  alight  in  their  visits  to 
our  earth." 

"  It  reminds  me,  Edith,  of  the  vision  of  good  John  Bunyan," 
answered  Madge,  "  and  as  if  this  was  like  '  Immanuel's  Land,' 
and  these  were  the  'Delectable  Mountains'  described  in  his 
'  Pilgrim's  Progress.'  I  think  I  remember  the  very  words  used 
when  describing  them :  '  "When  the  morning  was  up,  they  bid 
him  look  south ;  so  he  did,  and  behold  !  at  a  great  distance,  he 
saw  most  pleasant  mountains  ;  a  country  beautified  with  woods, 
vineyards,  fruits  of  all  sorts,  flowers  also,  with  springs  and 
fountains,  very  delectable  to  behold.  It  was  common,  too,  for 
all  the  pilgrims,  and  from  thence  might  be  seen  the  gate  of  the 
celestial  city.'" 

"Dear  Madge,"  said  Edith,  as  she  looked  affectionately  upon 
her  face,  "  have  you  any  hope  of  reaching  that  celestial  city  ? 
Can  you  admire  the  mere  poetical  sentiment  of  such  a  rest,  and 
live  without  a  real  interest  in  its  blessedness  ?" 


SCENES    NEVER   TO   BE    FORGOTTEN.  149 

Madge  dropped  her  eyes,  not  wishing  her  sister  to  read  their 
expression,  as  she  replied,  "  I  once  hoped  that  I  might  obtain 
an  interest  in  their  possession,  but,  Edith,  that  was  some  time 
since.  I  have  no  particular  interest  now  in  these  holy  subjects." 

As  they  proceeded  through  this  splendid  and  imposing 
scenery,  they  were  gradually  awed  into  silence,  for  nothing 
like  these  glorious  Pyrenees  had  they  ever  imagined. 

When  they  reached  Pau,  they  soon  found  pleasant  winter 
accommodations,  Protestant  services,  and  agreeable  society. 
There  were  also  several  clergymen  from  their  own  land,  in 
search  of  health ;  and  it  was  a  great  comfort  to  Mrs.  Clifford 
to  feel  that  she  was  thus  spiritually  provided  for.  She  lived 
much  out  of  doors,  for  the  climate  was  so  mild  and  balmy,  that 
it  was  at  all  times  more  agreeable  than  in  the  confinement  of 
the  walls  of  a  house. 

There  was  much  to  interest  the  young  people,  for  expecting 
to  remain  all  winter,  they  were  ready  to  form  some  acquaint- 
ances among  the  inhabitants.  In  the  house  with  themselves 
resided  a  French  family,  composed  of  a  mother  and  two  chil- 
dren,— Henri  and  Natalie  La  Bruyere.  They  were  very  polite 
to  the  strangers,  and  being  about  of  the  same  age,  were  fre- 
quently with  Blanche  and  Adele  in  their  outdoor  sports.  They 
were  Roman  Catholics,  and  were  brought  up  by  their  mother 
in  a  very  rigid  manner  as  regarded  religious  observances ;  but 
the  same  laxity  as  was  prevalent  elsewhere,  with  regard  to  the 
observance  of  the  Christian  Sabbath,  was  practised  by  these 
young  persons.  Blanche,  anxious  to  please  every  one,  and  to 
enjoy  all  that  was  passing  around  her,  tried  to  conceal  the 
strict  ideas  of  her  mother,  and  would  often  speak  slightingly 
of  customs  prevalent  in  her  own  land,  as  superstition  and  bigotry. 
On  one  Sunday  afternoon  in  October,  Blanche  was  missing 
from  the  family  circle.  She  had  attended  Protestant  services  in 
the  morning,  but  after  dinner  could  nowhere  be  found. 
Adele  had  heard  her  whispering  with  the  La  Bruyeres  about 
La  Guinguette, — an  amusement  common  among  the  French 
people  on  Sunday  afternoon  ;  and  knowing  the  place  where  they 
usually  assembled,  Edith  and  Adele  started  in  search  of  the 


150  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

truant  girl.  The  place  for  the  dance  was  a  large  open  spa<x», 
with  a  smooth  grassy  turf,  in  the  midst  of  a  shady  wood. 
When  they  drew  near,  they  heard  the  sound  of  music,  and  on 
entering  the  wood,  there  was  thoughtless  Blanche,  in  the  midst 
of  the  merry  group,  dancing  with  Henri  La  Bruyere.  When 
she  saw  her  sisters,  she  looked  somewhat  abashed,  as  she  remem- 
bered too  much  of  her  early  training  not  to  know  that  she  was 
doing  wrong.  Edith  hastened  up  to  the  group,  and  whispered, 

"  Blanche,  mamma  wishes  you  to  come  home.  She  will  be 
much  displeased  when  she  knows  the  truth." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  I  am  very  wrong,  Edith.  These  are  the 
customs  of  this  country,  and  I  do  not  see  any  use  in  making 
one's  self  ridiculous,"  replied  Blanche.  "  Dancing  is  very 
innocent,  and  I  cannot  see  what  harm  it  does." 

"  I  am  suprised,  Blanche,  that  you  do  not  seem  aware  of  the 
sanctity  of  the  Christian  Sabbath.  Are  we  not  commanded 
to  remember  the  day,  to  keep  it  holy  ?"  answered  Edith. 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  a  Christian,  Edith  ;  and  I  don't  see 
why  I  am  to  be  so  restrained." 

Looking  back  sorrowfully  upon  Henri  and  his  sister,  the  young 
girl  unwillingly  turned  her  steps  homeward,  ashamed  to  meet 
her  mother.  Mrs.  Clifford  never  scolded  her  children,  but  her 
mild,  reproachful  eye  spoke  volumes,  as  she  said  to  Blanche, 
"  What  is  to  become  of  you,  my  child,  if  you  have  no  more 
principle  than  you  have  lately  exhibited?  you  are  to  live  in  an 
ungodly  world,  and  are  to  meet  daily  with  temptations  ;  if  you 
are  so  led  about  by  every  wind  that  blows,  what  are  to  be  your 
rules  of  action?" 

"Indeed, I  am  sorry,  dear  mamma," answered  Blanche,  "but 
it  seemed  so  pleasant,  under  the  green  trees,  to  join  the 
lively  dancers,  that  I  could  not  help  it;  but  I  will  try  to  do 
better,  indeed  I  will,"  and  she  threw  her  arms  around  her 
mother's  neck,  and  burst  into  teai-s. 

"You  will  always  fail,  dear  Blanche,  if  you  do  not  depend 
upon  God's  grace ;  but  my  child,  I  fear  that  as  yet  you  have  no 
desire  to  please  God ;  and  therefore,  you  must  be  led  by  your 
own  wicked  notions  and  the  companions  whom  you  meet." 


SCENES   NEVER    TO    BE    FORGOTTEN.  151 

The  fond  mother's  heart  was  often  made  sad  by  these  exhi- 
bitions of  weakness  in  her  beautiful  child ;  she  saw,  moreover, 
that  she  was  not  capable  of  very  deep  emotions,  but  she  felt 
anxious  that  her  feebleness  should  be  fortified  by  Christian 
principles.  One  source  of  comfort  was  always  at  hand,  and 
while  she  could  cast  her  burdens  upon  the  Lord,  she  enjoyed 
sweet  and  abiding  peace;  to  Him  she  daily  carried  her  husband 
and  children,  confidently  believing  that  all  would  at  last  be 
brought  home  to  God,  in  answer  to  her  faithful,  trusting  prayers. 
Edith  she  believed  safely  sheltered  in  the  Redeemer's  fold. 
Her  character  daily  deepened  and  ripened,  and  the  mother,  with 
swimming  eyes  and  a  swelling  heart,  often  looked  upon  this 
daughter  with  peculiar  emotions,  in  view  of  her  own  delicate 
health,  which  always  kept  eternity  before  her,  and  loosened 
her  hold  upon  the  things  of  time  and  sense.  With  all  the  wil- 
ful ness  of  Madge,  she  still  believed  that  there  was  a  struggle 
going  on  in  her  young  heart  between  God  and  herself, — deeply 
convinced  of  her  duty,  and  yet  unwilling  to  yield,  for  fear  of 
being  thought  enthusiastic  and  weak.  For  her,  the  mother 
prayed,  and  feared,  and  hoped ;  the  latter,  however,  being  the 
prevailing  feeling  of  her  heart. 

Her  absent  Frank  she  believed  to  be  a  boy  of  fine  moral  char- 
acter but  on  account  of  his  levity  and  his  sex,  for  him  she  feared 
most.  Blanche  caused  her  many  anxious  hours;  Adele  was 
more  under  the  influence  of  principle;  blind  Lilly  and  little 
Emily  she  daily  laid  at  her  Saviour's  feet,  and  looked  upon  her 
sightless  child  as  already  a  lamb  of  Jesus'  fold. 

Autumn  stole  upon  them  gradually.  The  change  which  it 
made  was  hardly  perceptible ;  but  as  its  days  and  nights  passed 
away,  Edith  began  to  sigh  for  Gerald,  and  when  rambling 
among  the  pleasant  scenery,  often  imagined  the  pleasure  which 
they  should  enjoy  together.  One  evening  she  was  walking 
alone  on  the  terrace,  beneath  shady  trees,  where  she  could  com- 
mand one  of  the  most  lovely  prospects.  She  had  seated  her- 
self and  was  drinking  in  the  beauty  of  the  landscape,  when, 
looking  back  towards  the  town  which  she  had  left  behind,  she 
saw  a  young  gentleman,  in  travelling  dress,  approaching 


152  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

with  rapid  step.  She  thought  the  form  familiar ;  another 
glance,  and  her  heart  gave  a  bound,  as  she  recognized  Gerald 
Fortescue.  Instead  of  running  to  meet  him,  she  blushed  until 
tears  filled  her  eyes;  trembling  she  awaited  his  approach.  In 
another  moment,  their  hands  were  clasped  in  speechless  joy. 

"Dear  Edith,"  said  Gerald,  "do  I  see  you  once  more?" 

Her  overcharged  feelings  sought  relief  in  tears.  Gerald,  lead- 
ing her  to  a  distant  seat,  under  one  of  the  old  trees,  placed  him- 
self by  her  side,  and,  in  a  pure  interchange  of  young  affection, 
they  passed  a  happy  hour,  one  of  those  rosy  periods  which  in 
after  years  come  back  to  the  heart,  like  sweet  music  from  the 
distant  hills,  to  cheer  the  worn  and  weary  pilgrim,  when  sinking 
under  the  burden  of  life. 

"  How  are  Frank  and  Ralph  ?"  asked  Edith. 

"They  are  well.  Frank  is  progressing  rapidly,  but  I  am 
afraid  that  he  is  becoming  too  fond  of  theatricals.  You  know 
that  your  father  has  not  restrained  him  in  the  choice  of  amuse- 
ments, and  he  is  completely  fascinated  with  the  stage.  But 
Ralph  is  the  same  noble,  Christian  character,  pursuing  his 
onward  path,  towering  above  all  his  companions,  in  intellect, 
in  moral  worth,  and  sterling  Christian  principle.  Do  you 
know,  Edith,  that  I  think  it  very  strange  how  he  can  continue 
to  feel  the  same  interest  in  Madge,  when  she  is  so  ungrateful 
to  him ;  but  he  still  predicts  for  her  a  happy  and  a  useful 
future." 

"  Is  Josephine  with  you,  Gerald  ?"  asked  Edith. 

"She  is;  and  just  the  same  independent,  eccentric  woman.  I 
wish,  Edith,  that  I  could  see  her  a  useful  Christian  woman." 

"  Do  not  despair,  Gerald;  I  think  that  her  heart  was  touched 
once  by  Ralph  Cameron,  and  I  am  sure  that  if  she  is  only 
brought  under  good  influences,  she  will  yet  be  a  blessing  to  the 
world." 

Returning  to  the  house,  Edith  met  Josephine,  who  maintained 
the  same  bold  and  masculine  manners,  and  who,  seated  close 
by  Madge,  seemed  already  to  have  taken  possession  of  the 
gifted  young  girl. 

On  the  following  day,  anxious  to  show  Gerald  some  of  the 


SCENES   NEVER    TO   BE    FORGOTTEN.  153 

picturesque  scenery  around  Pan,  Edith  conducted  him  to  a 
point  from  which  he  could  have  one  of  the  most  charming 
views  of  the  Pyrenees.  It  was  one  of  the  brightest  days  of 
autumn,  when  the*  snowy  peaks  glistened  beneath  the  rays  of 
the  glorious  sun,  towering  away  so  far  into  the  heavens,  that 
one  might  easily  imagine  them  to  be  almost  the  boundary  that 
separated  our  lower  world  from  boundless  space.  Far  away,  to 
the  left,  the  Pic  du  Midi  de  Bigorre  seemed  to  form  the  eu^tci'n 
bulwark ;  in  the  centre,  stood,  as  a  cloven  crest,  the  Pic  du 
Midi  de  Pau  ;  between  these,  are  heights,  on  which  the  dazzling 
rays  seemed  to  concentrate  all  their  grandeur:  and  these  are  the 
glittering  glaciers  of  a  Vignemonde.  The  southwestern  sky  is 
filled  with  the  mountains  that  bound  the  valleys  of  Aspe  and 
Mauleon,  and  far  beyond  lie  the  snowy  peaks  of  Arragou. 
Gerald  stood  for  some  time  in  perfect  silence,  holding  Edith's 
hand ;  at  last,  after  drawing  a  long  breath,  he  spoke : 

"How  grand!  how  glorious!  Edith,  what  mortal  pencil 
could  ever  portray  such  splendor?" 

"Gerald,  do  you  see  that  long,  low  chateau  opposite?"  said 
Edith  ;  "  that  sheltered  the  first  Napoleon  ;  and  there,  far  down 
the  valley,  on  the  first  rise  of  the  Bigorre  hills,  is  the  little 
village  were  the  young  Henry  of  Navarre  passed  his  childish 


The  foreground  of  this  matchless  picture  is  shaded  by  avenues 
of  lofty  trees,  bordering  the  green  meadows,  that  bound  the 
northern  part  of  the  valley.  "  Do  you  see  that  sparkling  river, 
Gerald?  It  looks  as  pure  as  the  crystal  glaciers  and  virgin 
snows  from  which  it  rises  ;  and  look  at  the  old  bridge,  casting 
its  shadows  upon  the  water  below;  and  see  the  Donjon  Keep, 
towering  above  the  lofty  trees;  and  look  there,  Gerald,  at  the 
beauty  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  studded  with  [hose 
charming  villas,  and  so  beautif.illy  shaded  by  those  swelling 
woodlands." 

"I  never  could  have  imagined  anything  so  beautiful,  Edith," 
answered  Gerald.  "Everything  is  here  to  make  a  splendid 
landscape:  here  are  the  bright,  green  meadows,  gradually  shad- 
ing away  into  the  brown  hills,  and  the  dark  hillsides  walled  in 


]54  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

by  jagged,  snowy  peaks ;  and,  above  all,  the  deep  blue  of  the 
southern  sky." 

"  You  will  have  some  fine  studies  here,  Gerald,"  answered 
Edith. 

"  I  almost  despair  of  sketching  here:  there  is  so  much  of 
beauty,  it  actually  intoxicates.  I  should  scarcely  know  where 
to  begin  :  it  overpowers  me  entirely.  I  must  get  accustomed  to 
these  scenes  before  I  can  attempt  them." 

"  But,  Gerald,"  replied  Edith,  "it  is  a  place  where  we  must 
think  of  God  and  heaven.  I  never  come  here  that  I  do  not 
feel  awed  by  his  majesty,  and  overpowered  by  these  manifesta- 
tions of  his  glory.  He  speaks  to  me  from  these  lofty  moun- 
tains, and  says, '  Come  up  higher ;'  he  beckons  to  me  from  these 
lovely  skies,  and  bids  me  prepare  for  the  glorious  home  beyond ; 
his  voice  of  love  murmurs  in  the  gentle  breeze  and  in  the  rip- 
pling waters ;  and,  Gerald,  sometimes  I  long  to  soar  away,  that 
I  may  see  the  God  that  created  all  this  beauty." 

"Ah,  Edith,"  answered  Gerald,  "you  are  the  same  lofty  crea- 
ture that  I  have  always  loved ;  but  do  you  know  that  I  fear 
sometimes  that  you  are  so  rapidly  outstripping  my  feeble  steps 
in  moral  elevation,  that  I  scarcely  dare  raise  my  eyes  so  high, 
and  am  often  conscious  that  your  aspirations  are  higher,  purer, 
holier  than  mine." 

Edith  had  often  felt  pained  by  remarks  like  these,  and  a 
vague,  undefined  fear  of  something  in  the  distance  slightly  op- 
pressed her  sensitive  spirit ;  but  with  a  woman's  love,  it  was 
easy  to  persuade  herself  that  Gerald  was  all  that  her  young 
fancy  had  painted  him. 

Late  in  the  day  they  turned  their  steps  homeward.  Arm-in- 
arm  they  pursued  their  course ;  and  the  sweet  confidence  that 
beamed  in  Edith's  trusting  smile,  as  she  turned  her  modest  gaze 
on  Gerald's  counter^ance,  spoke  of  the  deep  love  enshrined 
within  her  young  heart.  As  they  walked  along,  they  were 
almost  entranced  by  a  view  of  one  of  those  splendid  sunsets 
seen  at  Pau,  when  the  ocb  of  day  sets  with  a  magnificence  diffi- 
cult to  describe.  First  the  sky  assumed  that  gauzy,  misty  hue, 
in  which  poets  veil  a  spirit;  then  the  colors  that  sparkled  iu  the 


SCENES    NEVER    TO    BE    FORGOTTEN.  155 

warm  noonday  sun  gradually  became  cooler  in  their  tone,  and 
the  mountains  assumed  their  snowy  white.  As  the  sun  gradu- 
ally descended,  he  first  tinged  the  eastern  peaks  with  a  rosy 
hue;  'then  the  Pic  d'Ossau  flashed  back  a  ruddy  light,  as  if 
reflecting  the  glare  of  a  burning  city.  All  along  the  ridge  it 
spread,  until  the  central  summits  were  covered  with  a  crimson 
fleece.  Then  the  air  became  more  shadowy,  and  the  western 
sky  fired  up  into  one  gorgeous  sea  of  glory,  from  the  faintest 
tint  of  orange  to  regal  purple ;  the  clouds  reflected  the  most 
splendid  of  the  prismatic  colors,  while  the  river  gave  back  the 
splendors  of  the  sky,  until  sky,  hills,  woods,  and  river  were  all 
blended  in  one  magnificent  picture  of  the  most  glorious  hues. 
Slowly  the  gayer  colors  faded  away ;  the  sunset  lingered  awhile 
low  in  the  red  west,  then  a  purple  shade  stole  over  the  landscape, 
and  the  river  assumed  its  usual  shadows  of  declining  day,  now 
and  then  lit  up  by  a  stray  sun-glance,  that  kissed  its  waves, 
as  it  seemed  to  say,  "Good  night!  good  night!  good  night!" 
Then  came  the  deeper  shadows  of  evening;  and  the  great 
white  mountains  stood  up  against  the  heavens  in  chilling 
majesty,  while  here  and  there,  a  bright  constellation  lit  up  the 
evening  sky.  When  the  young  people  reached  home,  they 
had  but  little  inclination  for  conversation ;  and  in  silence  they 
sought  their  rest. 

Many  were  the  delightful  rambles,  or  rides,  which  they  took 
among  the  charming  scenes  around  this  southern  home.  Many 
pleasant  parties  were  formed,  sometimes  to  visit  places  of  his- 
toric interest,  where  mouldering  church,  or  shattered  castle, 
brought  back  the  names  once  famous  in  the  world's  history,  but 
now  mouldering  in  the  silent  grave.  Sometimes  their  path  lay 
among  winding  valleys  and  smiling  hills,  where  the  song  of  the 
thrush  or  linnet  brought  back  the  memories  of  green  lanes  and 
shady  trees,  across  the  deep  ocean.  In  scenes  like  these,  Edith's 
high  and  fervent  nature  sent  out  its  clasping  tendrils  more 
firmly,  more  purely,  around  the  one  she  loved  ;  and  deeper 
down  in  memory's  silent  halls  were  daily  impressed  pictures  of 
Nature's  loveliness,  all  shared  with  one  from  whom  she  might 
part,  but  never  forget. 


156  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Even  as  late  as  November,  when  Americans  are  shivering  in 
the  same  latitude,  here  invalids  can  go  out  at  night,  and  enjoy 
the  soft,  mild  air  of  the  moonlight  evenings,  without  any 
danger  of  taking  cold.  There  is  a  peculiarity  in  the  southern 
sky :  the  vaulted  firmament  seems  to  be  higher  and  farther 
removed  from  the  earth  which  it  covers,  while  the  moon  and 
stars  seem  larger  and  more  clearly  defined,  and  burn  with  a 
more  brilliant  light,  through  this  transparent  atmosphere. 
Even  in  December,  the  air  seemed  as  warm  and  cheering  as  on 
a  Slay-day  morning :  roses  were  blooming  in  the  hedge-rows  ; 
violets  were  found  in  shady  lanes ;  wild  flowers,  that  live  all 
winter,  were  peeping  out  in  sunny  spots,  and  butterflies  were 
flitting  over  head,  although  there  were  no  leaves  upon  the 
forest  trees. 

As  the  young  people  were  often  seen  sitting  amid  the 
branches  of  the  orange  trees,  studying  their  lessons,  and  drink- 
ing iu  the  sweet  perfume  of  the  orange-blossoms,  mingled  with 
the  heliotrope,  that  bloomed  below,  it  was  difficult  to  imagine 
that  this  was  December.  Gerald  became  deeply  interested  in 
sketching,  amid  these  imposing  scenes,  and  Edith  was  almost 
as  much  engrossed  as  he. 

Josephine  again  exercised  an  unhappy  influence  upon  Madge, 
and  would  frequently  have  detained  her  from  the  house  of 
God  on  the  Sabbath  ;  but  here  the  mother's  authority  inter- 
fered, and  she  allowed  no  choice  in  the  matter.  Mr.  Clifford 
spent  much  time  with  his  wife,  but  expected,  early  in  the 
spring,  to  return  to  America,  to  attend  to  his  business.  His 
heart  often  seemed  softened  by  the  gentle  ministry  of  his  sweet 
companion  ;  but  worldly  chains  are  hard  to  break,  and  they 
fettered  him  yet  with  their  iron  links. 

The  young  girls  were  busily  occupied  with  their  studies,  and 
having  a  piano,  were  making  rapid  progress  in  that  beautiful 
accomplishment.  Gerald  had  discovered  that  Blanche  had  a 
fine  taste  for  drawing,  and  offering  to  give  her  lessons,  she 
gladly  accepted.  She  made  considerable  improvement,  and 
Edith  had  a  mortifying  return  of  her  old  malady,  when  she 
saw  him  anxiously  looking  forward  to  the  period  for  the  draw- 


SCENES   NEVER   TO   BE   FORGOTTEN.  157 

ing  lesson.  She  tried  to  school  her  heart  into  willing  compli- 
ance, but  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  she  could  receive 
Gerald  with  her  old  cordiality,  when  coming  from  these  exer- 
cises ;  she  could  feel  the  arching  of  her  proud  neck,  the  curling 
of  her  lip,  and  the  ice  which  chilled  her  extended  hand.  She 
endeavored  to  analyze  the  feeling,  but  she  could  not.  Jealous 
she  could  not  be  of  one  so  young,  and  her  own  sister ;  and  yet 
there  was  always  some  feeling  of  uneasiness  when  she  saw 
them  together.  She  endeavored  to  banish  the  thought,  and  to 
fight  down  the  temptation,  and  by  the  aid  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
generally  succeeded  so  far  as  to  make  no  perceptible  change  in  her 
conduct.  When  alone  with  Gerald,  she  was  always  happy,  for 
then  their  intercourse  was  uninterrupted  by  jarring  influences. 

In  one  of  these  walks  they  strayed  into  the  cemetery, 
which  was  tastefully  decorated  with  flowers,  crosses,  and 
other  touching  memorials.  Men  and  woman  of  all  classes 
and  ranks  were  interred  here,  who,  coming  in  search  of  health, 
found  death  stronger  than  the  warm  sun  and  gentle  air  of 
these  sunny  skies;  and,  away  from  home  and  friends,  had 
found  a  stranger's  grave  in  a  foreign  land. 

Many  had  lain  down  in  early  youth,  but  more  in  middle 
age.  As  Edith  walked  among  the  tombs,  with  their  touch- 
ing inscriptions,  her  spirit  was  saddened,  and  leaning  upon 
Gerald's  arm  more  heavily,  she  said  "Gerald,  what  do  you 
think  of  my  mother?  I  do  not  perceive  the  change  which 
I  had  hoped  for.  Her  cheek  is  very  pallid,  and  the  afternoon 
fevers  alarm  me." 

"  I  think,  dear  Edith,  that  she  seems  better.  She  is  certainly 
stronger  than  when  she  left  America." 

"  Oh !  Gerald,  if  I  should  lose  my  dear  mother,  how  much 
our  relations  might  be  changed.  I  feel  as  if  life  would  be  a 
very  different  thing  without  that  beloved  parent." 

"  I  trust  that  she  may  be  spared  to  you  many  years  yet, 
Edith,"  answered  Gerald. 

"  When  we  walk  here,  Gerald,  and  see  so  many  of  our  fel- 
low-creatures, sleeping  in  the  dust,  how  vain  our  earthly 
cares  appear,  and  hotf  vastly  important  does  eternity  be- 


153  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

come!  When  we  think  how  short  our  lives  may  be,  does  it 
not  appear  very  foolish  to  give  ourselves  so  much  anxiety 
about  the  things  of  time?" 

"  It  does,  Edith  ;  and  yet  how  we  lose  sight  of  the  other 
world  when  engrossed  by  the  cares  of  this." 

"  Let  us  live  a  better  life,  Gerald,"  replied  the  sweet  girl ; 
"  so  that  if  called  away  while  we  are  young,  we  may  sleep 
in  Jesus.  I  wonder,  Gerald,  if  we  are  careful  to  perform 
our  higher  duties,  and  often  ask  how  we  have  fulfilled  our 
Christian  vows." 

"  I  fear  that  I  have  not  been  faithful,  Edith,"  answered 
Gerald,  as  he  looked  upon  her  with  feelings  very  much  akin 
to  veneration.  "I  always  feel,  when  talking  with  you,  as 
if  you  are  so  far  distant  from  me,  that  I  can  scarcely  reach 
your  holy  elevation.  In  our  love  of  nature  and  of  art,  I 
feel  that  we  truly  sympathize;  but,  Edith,  in  the  love  of  the 
good  and  holy,  I  fear  that  there  is  in  my  bosom  but  a  feeble 
response." 

Edith  lifted  her  heart  in  prayer  for  her  betrothed,  and 
found  blessed  consolation  in  committing  every  care  to  God. 
The  winter  passed  rapidly  away.  Mrs.  Clifford  did  not  seem 
to  recover  her  strength  so  rapidly  as  her  friends  desired. 
Indeed,  towards  spring,  her  strength  rather  diminished,  and 
by  the  advice  of  her  physician  she  again  prepared  to  resume 
her  travels. 

Early  in  May,  her  husband  felt  obliged  to  return  home, 
but  not  until  he  had  made  all  necessary  preparation  for 
their  return  to  England  by  the  last  of  May.  Desiring  to 
visit  the  Khine,  they  took  that  far-famed  river  in  their  route. 
Sailing  on  its  placid  bosom,  bordered  by  the  vine-clad  hills 
of  France,  whose  swelling  eminence  were  capped  by  an- 
cient, decaying  castles,  their  love  of  the  beautiful  was  fully 
gratified.  Gerald,  Edith,  and  Madge  revelled  amid  the  cap- 
tivating scenery ;  and  regretted  the  change,  when,  having 
passed  once  more  through  Paris,  they  bade  a  final  adieu  to 
their  French  friends,  and  found  themself  crossing  the  Channel 
for  England. 


SCENES  NEVER  TO  BE  FORGOTTEN.          159 

The  fears  of  the  affectionate  family  were  painfully  awak- 
ened, when  they  saw  Mrs.  Clifford's  strength  so  rapidly  fail- 
ing. Instead  of  staying  another  winter,  it  was  apprehended 
that  a  speedy  return  to  their  native  land  was  advisable. 
Calling  in  one  of  the  best  physicians  in  London,  she  begged 
to  be  left  alone  with  him,  while  he  carefully  examined  her 
case. 

"  You  need  not  fear  to  give  me  your  candid  opinion,  Dr. 
Bond,"  said  Mrs.  Clifford;  "I  am  not  afraid  to  die.  My 
hopes  are  all  securely  fixed  on  my  Redeemer ;  but  I  wish  to 
know  the  worst,  that  I  may  know  how  to  act." 

"  I  would  advise  a  return  to  your  native  land,  dear  Ma- 
dam. The  disease  which  has  so  long  afflicted  you,  seems 
making  slow,  but  sure  advances.  I  do  not  think  that  you 
will  be  benefited  any  farther  by  a  sojourn  in  England." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  sir,  for  your  candor,"  answered  Mrs. 
Clifford.  "I  wish  to  be  wifli  my  husband  and  my  children, 
and  when  I  resign  this  mortal  breath,  I  wish  my  remains  to 
rest  in  my  native  land." 

When  the  physician  left  her,  she  begged  to  be  left  alone,  and 
fortified  herself  by  prayer  for  the  task  which  remained.  Send- 
ing for  Edith,  she  said,  "  Fasten  the  door,  my  child,  and  sit 
down  by  me.  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say.  We  must  return, 
Edith,  to  America.  My  disease  is,  as  I  have  always  imagined, 
incurable.  I  wish  to  die  among  my  friends,  and  under  the 
roof  of  dear  Ravens  wood." 

Edith  burst  into  tears,  and  threw  herself  sobbing  upon  her 
mother's  bosom. 

"  This  must  not  be,  my  dearest  child,"  said  Mrs.  Clifford,  as 
she  tenderly  and  caressingly  laid  her  hand  upon  the  pale  fore- 
head, and  pressed  loving  kisses  on  the  sweet  lips.  "  If  it  is  our 
Father's  will  to  take  me  hence,  he  cannot  err.  He  will  com- 
fort me  in  the  dark  valley,  and  I  know  that  he  will  bless  my 
child,  my  Edith." 

"Oh,  mother!  mother!  what  a  wilderness  the  world  will  be 
to  me!" 

"  No,  my  dearest,  it  will  not.     You  will  have  high  and  holy 


160  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

duties  to  perform,  and  while  fulfilling  these,  life  will  be  joyous 
You  will  learn  to  think  of  me  as  at  rest  in  heaven,  and  waiting 
for  my  loved  ones." 

Laying  her  hand  upon  Edith's  head,  she  poured  out  her  soul 
in  earnest  prayer,  and  both  were  calmed  and  comforted  by  the 
holy  exercise. 

"Now,  Edith,  my  daughter,  let  us  be  cheerful.  We  must 
make  our  preparations  to  go  in  the  next  steamer.  I  shall  feel 
much  more  happy,  when  safe  at  home." 

In  a  very  few  weeks,  the  family  embarked  for  New  York, 
with  very  different  feelings  from  those  with  which  they  had 
crossed  the  ocean.  Then  the  hope  was  sanguine  in  their  bosoms  ; 
now  they  felt  that  at  no  very  distant  period  they  must  part 
from  the  fond  mother,  and  pursue  the  journey  of  life  compara- 
tively alone. 

Gerald  and  Josephine  remained  in  Europe, — the  former  to 
pursue  his  studies  in  Rome,  and  among  the  works  of  art  which 
other  cities  afforded.  Edith  parted  sadly  from  Gerald,  for  she 
felt  that  days  of  sorrow  and  sadness  were  before  her ;  but  the 
aspirations  of  her  soul  were  upward,  and  its  cry  was,  "Lead  me 
to  the  rock  that  is  higher  than  I."  With  her  young  feet 
planted  firmly  on  that  rock,  she  felt  that  there  was  a 
sure  foundation,  and  there  sho  calmly  rested  with  all  her 
cares. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


ANGELS'    VISITS. 

?ITH  sorrowful  feelings,  they  sought  their  native 
land, — the  mother  resigned  aud  prayerful,  Edith 
sad  and  devoted. 

Miss  Arnold  saw,  with  painful  certainty,  that 
her  dear  friend's  step  grew  daily  more  feeble,  her 
cheek  more  pallid,  her  appearance  more  spiritual. 
Whenever  the  weather  permitted,  the  invalid  was 
taken  on  deck,  and,  supported  on  her  cushions, 
enjoyed  the  sea-air,  comforted  and  cheered  by  the  tender  care 
of  her  beloved  daughter.  Madge  was  more  kind,  Blanche  and 
Adele  more  subdued.  Little  Lilly  hung  around  her  mother 
with  ever-increasing  love,  and  Emily  ran  about,  unconscious  of 
approaching  sorrow,  sportive  as  a  little  fawn,  always  under  the 
faithful  care  of  good  old  nurse. 

One  summer  evening,  when  the  air  was  mild  and  balmy,  the 
mother  had  gathered  her  flock  around  her.  It  was  a  glorious 
sunset,  and  was  one  of  ihose  scenes  well  calculated  to  elevate 
the  soul. 

"Sing  our  evening  hymn,  Adele,"  said  her  mother.  The 
young  girl  tenderly  touched  her  guitar,  when  they  all  joined 
in  singing  the  sweet  hymn ;  after  which,  the  mother's  fa- 
vorite,— 

"  Jesus,  Saviour  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly." 

With  feelings  deeply  solemnized,  they  sat  in  silence  for  a  few 
11  161 


162  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

minutes,  watching  the  orb  of  declining  a&j,  as  it  gradually 
disappeared  below  the  horizon. 

"  Look,  my  dear  children,"  said  the  mother,  "what  a  beauti- 
ful emblem  of  the  Christian's  death !  So  may  my  departure 
be, — so  calm,  so  glorious  !  See  how  majestically  it  sinks  below 
the  ocean !  Thus  calmly  sinks  to  rest,  the  believer  in  Jesus." 

Her  children  listened  in  tearful  silence,  little  Lilly  clinging 
more  closely  as  she  nestled  to  her  mother's  side,  affectionately 
holding  her  thin  hand,  and  pressing  it  to  her  lips,  while  she 
bathed  it  with  her  tears.  Mrs.  Clifford  saw  that  it  was  a  time 
for  impression,  and  turning  to  Madge,  while  her  eye  beamed 
with  holy  love,  she  said,  "  My  daughter,  come  listen  to  your 
mother's  words.  You  may  not  have  me  with  you  much  longer, 
and  I  would  give  you  a  fond  mother's  advice.  You  are  rapidly 
approaching  womanhood.  Its  responsibilities  will  soon  be 
pressing  upon  you.  God  has  endowed  you,  my  child,  with 
many  talents ;  do  not  forget,  Madge,  for  what  purposes, — not  to 
elevate  yourself,  but  to  glorify  his  holy  name.  This  you  can 
never  do  unless  you  devote  your  life  to  his  service.  Thus  far, 
my  daughter,  you  have  lived  for  yourself.  You  are  not  happy, 
and  never  will  be,  until  you  submit  to  the  yoke  of  the  Lord 
Jesus." 

Madge  listened  with  a  tearful  countenance  and  swelling 
heart,  and  kissing  her  mother's  hand,  said,  "  Thank  you,  dear 
mother ;  I  will  try  to  profit  by  what  you  say." 

"  And  you,  dear  Blanche, — how  I  long  to  see  you  a  real 
Christian.  In  such  a  world,  and  with  such  a  fickle,  change- 
able disposition,  what  will  become  of  you  without  a  strong 
Redeemer  ?" 

Blanche  wept  as  she  listened  to  her  mother's  words,  and 
resolved  to  lead  a  better  life. 

"  And  Adele,  my  playful,  sportive,  thoughtless  child, — would 
that  I  could  see  you  sheltered  in  a  Saviour's  arms !  Lilly,  my 
sightless  one,  I  know  is  one  of  the  Saviour's  lambs.  And  Edith, 
to  you,  my  Christian  child,  I  look.  It  may  be  our  Father's 
holy  will  to  remove  me  from  you  all  very  soon,  but  I  look  to 
you  to  supply  a  mother's  place  when  I  am  at  rest.  Watch  over 


ANGELS'  VISITS.  163 

dear  Frank  and  yonr  sisters ;  comfort  your  father,  and  be  a 
bright  example  of  what  a  Christian  ought  to  be." 

All  were  in  tears.  Old  nurse  stood  leaning  by  her  mistress's 
couch,  overcome  by  the  strength  of  her  feelings  ;  but  none  were 
BO  calm  as  the  Christian  mother. 

"  To  my  younger  children  I  would  say,  look  to  your  sister 
Edith,  when  I  am  gone ;  render  to  her  the  love  and  respect 
which  you  would  to  me,  and  God  will  bless  you  all.  Then,  my 
dear  children,  when  life's  cares  are  ended,  and  its  sorrows 
passed ;  when  all  its  discipline  is  perfected,  we  may  hope  to 
meet,  a  family  in  heaven." 

Edith  listened  as  though  a  prophet's  tongue  spoke  to  her. 
The  words  sank  profoundly  into  the  depths  of  her  spirit,  and 
she  heard  them  as  though  there  was  a  voice  calling  to  her  from 
heaven,  and  pointing  out  her  holy  mission. 

Her  deep  heart  responded,  "  Here  am  I,  dear  Lord ;  do  with 
me  what  thou  wilt,  even  though  thou  should'st  require  me  to 
sacrifice  my  dearest  hopes." 

Mrs.  Clifford  was  much  exhausted  by  the  effort  which  she 
had  made,  and  as  she  lay  pale  and  tearful,  but  with  an  ex- 
pression of  holy  elevation  on  her  countenance,  all  who  looked 
upon  her  felt  as  if  nothing  could  efface  the  solemnity  of  that 
hour;  but  youthful  impressions  are  often  very  transient,  and 
human  hearts  very  deceitful  and  desperately  wicked ;  and  yet 
the  good  seed  once  sown,  though  buried  many  years,  may  yet 
spring  up  and  bear  an  abundant  harvest.  Let  the  faithful 
mother  "cast  her  bread  upon  the  waters,"  in  humble  faith, 
assured  that  she  shall  "find  it  after  many  days."  After  the 
evening  conversation  the  group  separated,  the  mother  to  her 
rest.  Blanche  and  Adele,  with  arms  encircling  each  other's 
waist,  paced  the  deck,  with  subdued  step  and  tearful  counte- 
nances, until  the  hour  for  retiring  arrived.  Edith  led  Madge 
away,  and  in  deeply  serious  conversation  endeavored  to  impress 
the  lesson  of  the  hour.  They  continued  walking  until 
the  moon  arose,  in  pale  impressive  majesty,  and  shedding  her 
mild  rays  over  the  deep  blue  ocean,  as  she  sailed  serenely 
through  the  flitting  clouds,  filled  their  young  bosoms  with 


164  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

tender  and  solemn  thoughts,  both  of  the  past  and  of  the 
dreamy  future. 

As  they  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  vessel,  for  awhile  they 
were  charmed  into  silence  by  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  As  the 
gallant  ship  cut  her  way  through  the  sparkling  waves,  she  left, 
behind  her  that  beautiful  phosphorescent  appearance,  which  is 
so  frequently  seen  on  the  still  evenings,  dancing  upon  the  ocean. 
On  this  evening,  it  was  peculiarly  bright,  making  a  shining  path 
for  the  noble  vessel. 

"  How  sweet  Ravenswood  looks  on  such  a  night  as  this  ?"  said 
Madge ;  "  but  how  different  it  will  be  when  we  reach  there." 

"Yes,"  replied  Edith,  "our  dear  mother  has  always  been  the 
charm  of  our  home;  without  her,  it  must  seem  desolate.  What 
will  papa  say  when  he  sees  her  ?" 

"  I  have  thought  of  that  very  often,  Edith,  for  we  know  that 
he  loves  her  very  dearly,"  answered  Madge. 

"But,  Madge,  you  see  what  a  source  of  happiness  her  faith  is 
to  her.  What  would  she  be  now  without  that  anchor  on  which 
to  lean  ?" 

The  young  girl  wiped  a  tear  from  her  eye,  as  she  replied,  "I 
see  it,  Edith  ;  but  I  have  no  such  comforting  faith.  I  cannot 
reconcile  many  things  in  the  Bible.  Josephine  has  pointed  out 
so  much  that  is  contradictory,  that  I  am  constantly  disturbed 
by  these  inconsistencies." 

"Be  persuaded,  Madge,  to  give  up  her  friendship.  She  is  of 
no  profit  to  you,"  said  Edith. 

"  I  think  that  it  would  grieve  her  if  I  should  slight  her,  and 
then  I  really  do  admire  her  talents  and  independence."  replied 
Madge.  "  I  would  not  give  a  cent  for  your  milk-and-water 
females,  who  have  no  mind  of  their  own." 

They  had  been  so  deeply  interested,  that  they  had  not  per- 
ceived that  the  sailors,  who  had  been  sitting  on  the  deck,  sing- 
ing their  last  song  and  telling  their  last  story,  had  one  by  one 
departed,  leaving  none  but  the  night-watch,  pacing  the  deck 
alone.  Silence  settled  down  upon  the  vessel ;  nought  was  heard 
but  the  heaving  of  the  lead,  and  the  dashing  of  the  waves,  as 
the  noble  bark  ploughed  her  way  through  the  boundless  ocean. 


ANGELS'  VISITS.  165 

Thinking  that  enough  had  been  said  at  this  time,  and  warned 
by  the  deep  stillness  that  the  hour  for  retiring  had  long  passed, 
Edith  led  the  way  to  the  cabin,  both  deeply  impressed  by  the 
conversation  of  the  evening.  In  a  few  days  they  came  in  sight 
of  New  York,  and  it  was  with  deep  emotion  that  they  per- 
ceived Mr.  Clifford  and  Frank  on  the  wharf,  awaiting  their 
arrival. 

As  the  vessel  neared  the  lauding,  they  looked  in  vain  for  the 
face  of  the  wife  and  mother  among  the  family  group.  All 
were  standing  in  eager  expectation  but  this  dear  member  of  the 
household. 

As  soon  as  possible,  the  father  and  son  sprang  to  the  deck  of 
the  vessel,  and  neither  could  altogether  conceal  their  feelings 
when  they  saw  the  wasted  form  that  lay  reclining  on  a  couch 
on  the  deck.  Extending  her  arms  and  smiling  sweetly,  but 
sadly,  upon  those  dear  objects,  she  received  them  with  speech- 
less emotions  of  mingled  joy  and  sorrow.  Mr.  Clifford  held  the 
wasted  remains  of  his  beloved  wife  a  minute  in  his  arms,  and 
imprinted  warm  kisses  upon  her  sweet,  pale  lips,  as  she  whispered, 
"  Thank  heaven,  dear  George,  home  to  die;  that  is  what  I  have 
longed  and  prayed  for." 

In  a  short  time  the  family  were  conveyed  to  their  carriages, 
the  husband  supporting  the  cherished  wife,  all  the  rest  of  the 
way,  upon  his  own  bosom.  Arrangements  had  been  made,  after 
a  night's  rest,  to  proceed  immediately  to  Ravenswood ;  accord- 
ingly, on  the  next  morning,  they  set  out  for  home.  When  in 
sight  of  Ravenswood  the  mother's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she 
gazed,  in  speechless  tenderness,  upon  the  home  of  her  youth 
and  married  life. 

Uncle  Peter  and  Aunt  Priscilla  were  on  the  piazza  to  meet 
the  travellers.  The  faithful  old  servant  respectfully  kissed  his 
mistress's  hand,  and  in  silence  turned  away,  to  hide  the  falling 
tears. 

Aunt  Priscilla  received  her  affectionately  in  her  arms,  and 
with  the  aid  of  Mr.  Clifford  led  her  into  the  house.  "  Into  the 
library,  dear  George,"  whispered  the  wife ;  and  once  more 
seated  in  her  accustomed  chair,  she  looked  around  upon  each 


166  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

familiar  object  with  an  expression  of  tranquil  resignation  and 
tender  sadness. 

"  You  see,  Aunt  Priscilla,  that  your  poor  niece  is  not  much 
benefited  by  her  journey ;  but  she  is  unspeakably  thankful  for 
all  the  kindness  she  has  experienced  at  the  hands  of  so  many 
dear  friends,  and  especially  on  finding  herself  once  more  at 
home." 

"  Shall  I  stay  with  you,  Mary  ?"  asked  the  kind  old  woman. 

"Yes,  aunty ;  but  you  must  not  expect  me  to  take  your  medi- 
cines. I  must  be  guided  in  that  by  my  physician." 

Fatigued  by  her  journey,  she  wished  to  go  to  her  room,  and 
looking  around  with  a  yearning  expression,  which  all  felt  to  be 
a  mute  farewell,  she  was  led  by  her  husband  to  her  own  apart- 
ment. 

From  that  day  her  strength  rapidly  declined.  Cheered  by 
the  constant  visits  of  her  dear  pastor,  Mr.  Birkely,  the  kind 
attentions  of  her  husband,  and  the  devotion  of  Edith,  she  sank 
gradually  and  serenely  to  the  tomb.  'Twas  now  that  the  value 
of  Christian  faith  was  truly  tested.  Her  communion  with  her 
Saviour  was  close  and  intimate.  As  she  drew  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  hour  of  her  departure,  her  hopes  grew  brighter  and  her 
faith  stronger.  She  had  bade  adieu  entirely  to  earthly  things, 
and  they  crossed  the  chamber-door  no  more.  She  seemed  to  be 
at  all  times  in  view  of  the  "land  of  Beulah:"  its  breezes 
fanned  her,  its  odors  were  wafted  to  her  couch,  its  music 
charmed  her  senses,  and  its  visions  were  of  angels  and  the 
golden  streets  of  the  New  Jerusalem;  but  the  one  glorious 
object  which  illumined  the  whole  horizon  of  her  hopes  was 
Jesus,  her  own  Redeemer,  whose  presence  beamed  around  her 
perpetual  sunshine.  In  view  of  these  glorious  anticipations, 
she  could  bid  farewell  to  earth  and  her  loved  ones,  and  longed 
to  be  at  rest  forever. 

The  husband  was  unremitting  in  his  attentions;  but  no  devo- 
tion of  his  could  stay  the  hand  that  was  pointing  her  away,  nor 
win  her  back  to  earth,  though  so  full  of  fond  attractions  to  a 
wife  and  mother's  heart. 

For  a  few  days  she  seemed  revived,  was  able  to  set  up,  and 


ANGELS'  VISITS.  167 

be  wheeled  to  the  window  in  her  easy  chair,  where  she  could 
command  a  view  of  the  beautiful  Hudson.  By  her  side  stood 
a  little  table,  on  which  was  placed  a  bouquet  of  lovely  flowers. 
Her  Bible  was  always  at  hand,  and  when  not  too  weak  to  read, 
many  an  hour  in  her  sick-room  was  comforted  by  the  blessed 
promises  of  that  holy  volume. 

Edith  was  her  constant  companion.  She  never  left  her 
mother's  side,  excepting  to  take  her  meals,  and  sometimes 
would  have  them  brought  up  to  her,  until  her  father,  fearing 
that  her  health  would  suffer  by  such  co  istant  confinement,  in- 
sisted on  her  taking  some  rest  and  relaxation.  Having  some 
very  important  commissions  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York,  he 
desired  that  Edith  might  attend  to  them.  She  consented,  un- 
willingly, fearing  that  she  might  be  absent  many  days;  but  her 
mother  joined  her  requests  to  her  father's,  saying  that  she  could 
easily  be  spared,  when  there  were  so  many  at  home  ready  to 
wait  upon  her. 

Edith  reluctantly  prepared,  and  entering  her  mother's  room, 
kissed  her  affectionately,  and  placing  a  fresh  bouquet  upon  her 
table,  said,  "  Mother,  that  is  Edith's  farewell ;  they  will  bloom 
until  I  return  again." 

Raising  her  soft  blue  eyes,  she  answered,  "  I  shall  miss  you, 
my  daughter;  but  you  know  who  is  always  with  me.  I  never 
lose  the  sense  of  my  Saviour's  presence.  It  is  better  that  you 
should  take  some  recreation  while  you  can ;  thei'e  may  be  many 
days  and  nights  of  watching  yet,  before  I  am  at  home." 

The  mother's  lip  quivered  as  she  kissed  her  daughter's  cheek, 
and  her  eye  filled  with  tears  as  she  watched  her  retreating 
figure.  She  had  not  been  absent  more  than  one  day,  before  a 
messenger  arrived  to  hasten  her  return.  A  violent  hemorrhage 
had  alarmed  Mr.  Clifford,  and  the  physician  had  advised  an  im- 
mediate recall  of  the  absent  daughter.  Being  some  distance 
from  the  city,  there  was  necessarily  a  delay  of  some  hours  ere  she 
could  reach  New  York.  As  she  rode  along  through  the  streets 
at  night,  her  eye  was  attracted  to  the  signs  of  death  every- 
where :  the  white  tomb-stones  glistening  like  pale  ghosts  in  the 
silent  graveyards ;  the  bright  lamp  before  the  doors  of  the  city 


168  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

undertakers,  burning  at  all  hours  in  readiness  for  the  midnight 
messenger ;  the  sound  of  church-bells,  calling  the  worshippers 
to  their  evening  service, — all  filled  her  heart  with  gloomy  fore- 
bodings. She  thought,  how  soon  may  my  dear  mother  be  num- 
bered among  these  silent  dead,  and  how  soon  may  these  unwel- 
come messengers  be  needed  to  perform  the  last  offices  for  her ! 
The  church-bells  seemed  to  be  tolling  a  funeral  knell,  and 
mourning  processions  filled  her  excited  imagination. 

It  was  the  hour  of  midnight  ere  she  approached  her  home. 
She  was  alone.  The  pale  moon  shone  sadly  around  the  silent 
walks  and  among  the  dark  trees  of  Ravenswood.  No  human 
forms  were  visible;  no  signs  of  life  were  manifest,  save  the  dim 
light  burning  in  her  mother's  chamber.  But  around  that  dwell- 
ing, where  lay  a  saint  preparing  for  glory,  doubtless  angel 
visitants  were  hovering,  ready  to  convey  a  sister-spirit  home  to 
heaven.  Could  mortal  eyes  have  penetrated  the  fleecy  clouds, 
there  might  have  been  revealed  the  bright  convoy  sent  to 
minister  to  this  heir  of  salvation,  and  in  obedience  to  their 
Heavenly  Master,  whispering  sweet  thoughts  of  peace  and  love, 
ever  watching  for  that  mysterious  moment,  when  the  mortal, 
becoming  immortal,  takes  its  flight  to  the  spirit-land. 

Thoughts  of  these  celestial  visitants  filled  Edith's  heart  as 
she  watched  the  fanciful  forms  of  the  moonlit  clouds  flitting 
above  her,  in  her  ride  up  that  dark  avenue  of  old  elm  trees,  and 
seeming  to  precede  her  in  misty  crowds,  veiling  angelic  messen- 
gers. With  a  beating  heart  she  rang  the  bell.  Old  Uncle 
Peter  met  her  at  the  door,  and  with  a  solemn  aspect,  he  said, 
"  We  have  been  expecting  you." 

"  Is  my  mother  alive  ?"  grasped  Edith. 

"She  is  still  with  us,  but  just  ready  for  the  angels." 

Uncle  Peter  preceded  her  to  the  supper-room.  A  dim 
light  burned  in  the  hall ;  the  old  clock  had  just  struck  the 
midnight  hour,  and  Edith  could  easily  imagine  that  its  loud, 
impressive  ticking,  was  keeping  time  with  the  beating  heart 
above,  that  was  slowly  and  solemnly  laboring  beneath  the 
hand  that  was  gradually  stopping  its  pulsations.  An  un- 
tasted  meal  stood  upon  the  tea-table.  She  passed  with  a 


ANGELS'  VISITS.  169 

throbbing  heart  through  the  deserted  room,  up  the  long 
staircase,  and  along  the  dark  entry  that  led  to  her  mother's 
chamber.  Measuring  time  by  the  depth  of  her  feelings,  it 
seemed  lengthened  minutes,  instead  of  a  few  seconds,  that 
brought  her  into  her  mother's  presence. 

Quietly  she  opened  the  door.  Her  father  was  standing  by 
the  bed,  supporting  the  dear  invalid,  as  the  life-blood  welled 
from  her  pale  lips.  Miss  Arnold  was  sitting  by  the  other 
side.  Frank  and  her  sisters  were  standing  at  a  distance, 
bathed  in  tears.  As  soon  as  her  mother  perceived  her,  she 
pointed  upwards,  and  looked  upon  Edith  with  a  smile  full  of 
heavenly  love.and  blessedness.  Edith  found  that  she  could  not 
speak ;  and  schooling,  her  heart  with  a  firm  resolve,  she  seated 
herself,  with  a  blanched  cheek,  but  a  calm  and  quiet  manner. 

All  night  they  watched  in  silence  around  the  bed,  fearing 
by  a  word  to  agitate  the  sufferer,  and  thus  increase  the  hem- 
orrhage. Towards  morning  the  symptoms  abated,  but  great 
weakness  followed.  Unable  to  speak,  for  many  hours  she  lay 
pale  and  almost  as  silent  as  if  shrouded  for  the  grave.  When 
the  physician  arrived,  he  pronounced  her  somewhat  better, 
and  expressed  the  opinion  that,  in  a  few  days,  she  might  rally 
once  more.  At  the  close  of  the  third  day,  she  could  speak 
in  whispers  ;  in  a  day  or  two,  she  was  able  to  converse  more 
freely,  and  when  her  strength  was  sufficiently  restored,  called 
Edith,  and  requested  to  be  left  alone  with  her,  as  she  had 
much  to  say. 

"  Close  the  door,  my  dear,"  said  the  mother,  "  and  come 
sit  down  by  me.  I  feel  unusually  strong  to-day,  and  may 
never  be  able  again  to  say  all  that  I  desire.  It  cannot  be 
much  longer,  my  daughter,  before  I  leave  you.  For  the 
world  to  come,  I  have  no  fears  :  my  hopes  are  on  the  rock, 
Christ  Jesus ;  nothing  can  move  them ;  but  it  requires  strong 
faith  to  leave  my  children  in  this  wicked  world.  I  feel  that 
Frank  has  reached  a  dangerous  age, — not  yet  eighteen,  im- 
pulsive, fond  of  pleasure,  but  most  of  all,  captivated  with  the 
stage.  Exert  your  influence  over  him,  Edith:  be  kind, 
be  affectionate,  never  forsake  him,  happen  what  may. 


170  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Do  not  be  impatient  with  Madge ;  she  may  be  a  bright 
Christian  yet.  Watch  over  Blanche  faithfully, — ::he  needs 
all  a  sister's  care ;  restrain  Adele  in  her  wild  moods ;  cherish 
dear  blind  Lilly,  and  bring  up  little  Emily  for  the  Lord. 
Pray  much  for  them,  Edith ;  keep  them  within  reach  of  the 
means  of  grace ;  ask  for  guidance  of  the  Lord  ;  be  in  all 
things  a  bright  example  of  a  Christian  sister.  Do  not  forsake 
them,  Edith,  while  they  are  so  young;  and  one  thing  I  wish 
you  to  promise  me,  and  that  is,  when  I  am  gone,  to  conduct 
our  family  worship.  There  are  many  helps  to  devotion  ;  use 
some  of  them.  Will  you  promise  me?" 

"  By  God's  help,  dear  mother,  I  will  do  all ;"  and  throwing 
herself  on  her  knees,  by  her  mother's  bed,  she  said,  solemnly, 
"  Hear  me,  mother :  here,  by  this  bed,  and  in  the  presence  of 
God,  I  promise  never  to  forsake  my  brother  and  sisters,  so 
long  as  they  need  my  care.  I  will  endeavor  to  be  sister, 
mother,  all  to  them,  God  being  my  helper." 

It  was  no  light  vow  that  Edith  Clifford  took  that  day, 
before  the  Lord.  Down  in  the  depths  of  her  lofty  nature  it 
was  uttered,  and  registered  in  heaven ;  in  after-life,  it  was 
nobly  fulfilled.  As  she  arose,  an  elevated  expression  beamed 
upon  her  pure  and  holy  countenance,  and  illumined  her  soft, 
dark  eyes.  Her  mother  took  her  in  her  arms,  almost  with 
reverence,  and  placing  her  hand  upon  her  young  head,  raised 
her  soft  eyes  to  heaven,  as  she  whispered,  "Saviour,  bless  my 
child  ;  baptize  her  with  thy  own  pure  and  loving  spirit.  May 
she  be  guided  and  blessed,  and  may  her  light  be  that  of  the 
'  shining  light,  which  shineth  brighter  and  brighter,  until  the 
perfect  day.'  Now,  Edith,  kiss  your  mother.  I  have  no  more 
earthly  anxieties,  I  can  now  sing, 

'  Farewell  to  sin  and  sorrow ;' 

but  ere  I  depart  hence,  I  have  one  more  request  to  make,  and 
it  is  this:  I  desire  to  partake  of  the  communion,  next  Sabbath. 
Will  you  send  for  Mr.  Berkely?  I  should  like  to  have  it 
administered  in  the  afternoon  ;  it  will  be  the  last  on  earth.  I 
shall  soon  sit  down  at  the  marriage-supper  of  the  Lamb,  in 


ANGELS'  VISITS.  171 

heaven.  Now,  Edith,  send  your  father  to  me.  I  must  make 
all  my  requests  while  I  have  strength." 

Kissing  her  mother,  she  left  the  room,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  husband  entered.  "George,  will  you  place  me  on  that 
couch?"  said  the  wife.  Lifting  the  light  burden,  he  gently 
removed  her  to  the  couch,  seated  himself  by  her  side,  and, 
leaning  her  head  upon  his  bosom,  while  he  encircled  her  frail 
form  with  his  strong  arm,  he  kissed  her  pale  cheek,  and  said, 
"What  does  my  dear  wife  want?" 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say,  dear  George,  ere  I  depart.  I 
shall  soon  leave  you,  dearest  husband,  for  another  and  a  better 
world.  I  have  been  reviewing  all  my  life  to-day.  I  have 
thought  over  the  days  of  our  early  love.  I  remember,  George, 
just  where  we  sat  when  you  first  declared  your  love ;  it  was 
there,  down  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  under  the  shade  of 
the  tree  that  stands  there  still.  You  made  me  very  happy, 
then,  when  you  vowed  to  be  mine  forever.  George,  you  have 
kept  your  vow.  And  then,  I  have  thought  of  our  bright 
wedding-day,  when  the  whole  air  was  filled  with  the  perfume 
of  the  roses  of  June ;  how  cheering  everything  appeared 
around  dear  Ravenswood.  You  remember,  George,  that 
father  and  mother  were  here,  then,  and  dear  sister  Emily: 
but  they  are  gone,  George,  and  I  shall  join  them  soon.  Oh! 
husband,  you  have  kept  that  vow,  too ;  you  have  made  life 
very  bright  and  happy  to  me ;  you  have  never  let  the  winds 
visit  your  wife  too  roughly ;  you  have  anticipated  all  my 
wishes  ;  not  an  unkind  word  has  ever  passed  your  lips,  and 
this  day,  in  sight  of  the  river  of  death,  which  must  soon 
separate  us,  I  bless  you,  my  husband,  for  all  the  devoted  love 
of  these  happy  years,  but  much  as  I  love  you,  my  husband,  I 
am  willing,  yea,  rather  anxious  to  depart,  and  be  with  Jesus. 
There  has  been  but  one  drawback  to  our  happiness,  and  that 
has  arisen  from  your  want  of  interest  in  the  things  of  God 
I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  separation  beyond  the  grave ;  and 
yet,  my  dearest  husband,  I  have  now  no  hope  of  meeting  you 
in  heaveu.  Oh !  George,  my  early  love,  the  dear  partner  of 
jay  riper  years,  do  not  live  without  God  in  this  world." 


172  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Mr.  Clifford's  breast  heaved,  as  he  listened  to  this  eloquent 
appeal  from  the  wife  he  so  fondly  loved.  He  answered  with  a 
trembling  voice,  "  Mary,  I  have  many  more  serious  thoughts 
than  you  can  imagine,  but  the  cares  of  the  world,  and  the 
things  of  time  and  sense  engross  my  attention  so  much,  that 
my  resolutions  to  lead  a  better  life  are  often  put  to  flight,  but 
I  will  promise  you  to  pay  more  attention  to  these  things.  I 
will  be  more  diligent  in  attending  upon  the  house  of  God,  in 
reading  the  Scriptures,  and  in  prayer.  Of  one  thing  you  may 
be  certain,  that  no  other  woman  shall  occupy  your  place  in 
my  desolate  home.  I  can  depend  upon  Edith  ;  she  is  a  girl 
of  strong  sense,  and  firm  and  lofty  character,  and,  I  am  sure» 
can  fill  the  station  well,  as  head  of  this  household." 

Mrs.  Clifford  answered  fondly,  "  She  is  a  dear  girl,  full  of 
high  aspirations,  and  devoted  to  the  service  of  her  Redeemer. 
I  can  fully  trust  her.  I  know  that  she  will  be  a  blessing,  and 
a  comfort  to  you  all." 

Taking  his  wife  in  his  arms,  he  gently  laid  her  down  upon 
her  bed  to  rest ;  and  passing  out  of  the  room  with  a  deeply 
subdued  and  solemn  aspect,  he  sent  Edith  to  her  mother. 
On  the  following  Sabbath,  a  little  company  gathered  in  the 
chamber  of  the  dying  Christian,  where  the  emblems  of  re- 
deeming love  were  decently  spread  out  on  the  table  before  her, 
and  all  the  family  gathered  around  her  bed. 

Miss  Arnold,  Edith,  Aunt  Priscilla,  and  Uncle  Peter,  all 
partook  of  the  solemn  ordinance  ;  and  the  holy  elevation  that 
beamed  upon  the  countenance  of  the  interesting  invalid,  spoke 
of  the  deep  peace  that  dwelt  within.  Doubtless,  angelic  visi- 
tants witnessed  the  touching  scene,  and  unseen,  bent  over  the 
dying  Christian,  and  sympathized  in  some  mysterious  manner, 
to  us  unknown,  with  the  spirit  so  near  to  the  verge  of  the  land 
of  immortals. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  one  thing  to  the  believer  is  always  certain, 
and  this  Mrs.  Clifford  sweetly  realized,  as  she  felt  a  Saviour 
near  in  the  breaking  of  bread.  Taking  Mr.  Berkely's  hand 
ere  he  left,  she  said,  "  It  is  the  last  communion  on  earth,  the 
next  will  be  in  my  Father's  kingdom.  Oh !  may  my  dear  ones 


ANGELS'  VISITS.  173 

all  sit  down  with  me  at  that  marriage-supper ;  and  I  think  they 
will,  my  friend,  for  God  has  promised  to  answer  prayer,  and 
this  has  been  the  prayer  of  my  life.  Will  you  not  watch  over 
them,  my  dear  pastor,  when  I  am  gone?" 

"  Rest  assured,  my  dear  friend,  that  I  shall  never  lose  sight 
of  your  precious  family,  and  that  in  me  they  Avill  always  find  a 
faithful  friend." 

From  this  day  she  sank  gradually  away.  On  the  evening 
of  the  third  day  the  angel  visitants  drew  nearer  to  the  dying 
chamber,  until,  aware  that  the  hour  of  departure  was  just  at 
hand,  they  hovered  over  the  departing  saint,  ready  to  convey 
her  spirit  home.  Gathered  around  the  bed,  the  family  stood  in 
solemn  silence,  suppressing  their  feelings,  for  fear  of  disturbing 
this  sacred  scene. 

"  I  cannot  see  you,  George,  but  I  feel  that  you  are  near  me ; 
dearest,  kiss  me  once  more.  Frank,  come,  take  your  mother's 
blessing.  Oh !  my  son,  make  your  sister  Edith  your  guide, 
your  friend.  Edith,  Madge,  Blanche,  Adele,  farewell,  farewell ! 
Bring  Lilly  and  Emily  to  my  arms."  She  kissed  them  both, 
but  as  she  pressed  her  cold  lips  to  the  cheek  of  her  blind 
daughter,  the  shivering  of  the  poor  sensitive  child  indicated 
the  intensity  of  her  sufferings,  and  Miss  Arnold  quietly  removed 
her,  and  laid  her  fainting  form  upon  the  couch,  while  she 
applied  gentle  restoratives.  ."  Come  to  me,  my  friend,"  and  she 
pressed  her  pale  lips  upon  Miss  Arnold's  cheek,  as  she  said, 
"  You  have  been  a  faithful  friend, — never  forget  my  children. 
Aunt  Priscilla  and  Uncle  Peter,  farewell !  We  shall  meet  in 
heaven.  Bid  Gerald  and  Ralph  farewell.  And  now,  Lord 
Jesus,  receive  my  spirit ;  come,  come  quickly  !"  As  she  uttered 
these  words,  the  angel  messengers,  stooping  over  the  departing 
spirit,  received  it  into  their  keeping,  and  bore  it  speedily  away, 
beyond  the  bounds  of  time  and  sense,  away,  away,  beyond  the 
stars ;  and  left  nought  in  the  chamber  of  death  but  the  cold 
remains  of  the  beloved,  and  the  weeping  family  mourning  over 
their  bereavement. 

"  Take  them,  0  Death  !  and  bear  away 
Whatev»r  thou  canst  call  thine  own  ! 


174  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Thine  image,  stamped  upon  this  clay, 
Doth  give  thee  that,  but  that  alone  I 

"  Take  them,  0  Grave  !  and  let  them  lie 

Folded  upon  thy  narrow  shelves, 
As  garments  hy  the  soul  laid  by, 
And  precious  only  to  ourselves. 

"  Take  them,  0  great  Eternity! 
Our  little  life  is  but  a  gust, 
That  bends  the  branches  of  thy  tree, 
And  trails  its  blossoms  in  the  dust." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE    BAPTISM    OF    GRIEF. 

HE  sad  event  which  removed  the  dear  mother 
from  this  affectionate  household  had  been  so 
long  anticipated  that  it  had  not  come  upon  them 
unawares.  And  yet  in  the  realities  of  bereavement 
there  are  always  some  bitter  drops,  which  none  but 
those  who  have  been  called  to  drink  the  cup  can 
ever  fully  realize.  The  sad  awakening  after  a  night 
of  sorrow  is  always  one  of  anguish  ;  for  what  grief- 
stricken  heart  cannot  remember  the  first  bewildered  thoughts 
after  the  troubled  slumber,  the  dim  recollection  of  some  heavy 
blow,  the  quickening  consciousness  of  a  weight  of  sorrow,  and 
the  convulsive  weeping  at  the  full  recollection  of  all  that  has 
passed  ?  Then  the  dreary  wilderness  of  the  future  rises  before 
the  mental  vision,  as  its  trials  are  anticipated,  when  the  sym- 
pathizing bosom  of  the  departed  is  sleeping  in  the  cold  tomb, 
the  melting  eye  closed,  and  the  sweet  lips  silent  forever. 

These  were  the  feelings  that  agitated  the  heart  of  Edith 
Clifford  as  the  morning  sun  of  a  summer  day  streamed  in  her 
window,  and  she  arose  to  shut  out  the  brightness,  which  seemed 
a  mockery  in  her  hour  of  bereavement.  But  she  was  a  sincere 
Christian,  and  as  she  read  the  glorious  promises  of  the  resur- 
rection, with  what  new  power  did  they  distil  their  precious 
influence  upon  her  heart,  as  she  applied  them  to  her  departed 
mother!  When  she  meditated  upon  the  apostle's  glowing 

175 


176  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

chapter  on  the  resurrection,  her  heart  was  filled  with  peace, 
and  she  felt  that  she  could  commit  the  dear  remains  to  the  cold 
grave,  knowing  that  "all  who  sleep  in  Jesus  will  God  bring 
with  him."  She  felt  assured  that  her  mother  was  one  of  these 
blessed  ones;  and  when  she  thought  of  the  glory  which  "eye 
hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,"  she  prayed  for  resignation  to  the 
Divine  will,  and  was  at  peace.  Hastily  dressing  after  her 
devotions,  she  repaired  alone  to  her  mother's  chamber.  How 
sad,  how  desolate  all  appeared !  The  usual  accompaniments 
of  the  sick-room  were  removed,  and  on  the  bed  lay  the  pale 
form  of  her  best  earthly  friend.  A  few  bright  rays  of  a  summer 
sun  stole  in  through  the  Venetian  shutters,  and  played  around 
the  sleeping  form  of  the  dead,  brightening  the  light  ringlets 
that  lay  around  the  sweet  face.  It  was  a  faded  form,  but  there 
were  still  remains  of  beauty  in  the  marble  forehead,  the  deli- 
cate features,  the  closed  eye,  with  its  long  drooping  lashes,  and 
that  indescribable  charm  of  angelic  sweetness  which  so  fre- 
quently lingers  around  the  lips  of  the  departed.  Clad  in  her 
usual  attire  of  a  pure  white  wrapper,  in  the  pale  hands,  folded 
meekly  on  her  breast,  lay  a  few  sprigs  of  mignonette  and 
heliotrope,  her  favorite  flowers. 

She  looked  as  though  sweetly  sleeping,  so  natural  and  com- 
posed was  her  lovely  aspect ;  and  Edith  felt  as  if  her  heart  must 
break,  when  she  realized  that  she  might  call  in  vain,  and  in 
vain  kiss  the  pale  lips  of  that  dear  parent,  who  never  would 
greet  her  again  with  those  soft  eyes  and  those  smiling  lips. 
The  beauty  of  Byron's  description  of  death  was  here  entirely 
realized,  when  he  says : 

11  He  who  hath  bent  him  o'er  the  dead, 
Ere  the  first  day  of  death  is  fled ; 
The  first  dark  day  of  nothingness, 
The  last  of  danger  and  distress ; 
Before  decay's  effacing  fingers 
Have  swept  the  lines  where  beauty  lingers; 
And  marked  the  mild,  angelic  air, 
The  rapture  of  repose  that's  there ; 
The  fixed,  yet  tender  traits,  that  streak 
The  languor  of  the  placid  cheek, 


THE   BAPTISM   OF   GRIEF.  177 

And  but  for  that  sad,  shrouded  eye, 

That  fires  not — wins  not — weeps  not — now; 

And  but  for  that  chill,  changeless  brow, 

Whose  touch  thrills  with  mortality, 

And  curdles  to  the  gazer's  heart, 

As  if  to  him  it  could  iir.part 

The  doom  he  dreads,  yet  dwell?  upon  ; 

Yes,  but  for  these,  and  these  alone, 

Some  moments,  ay,  one  treacherous  hour, 

He  still  might  doubt  the  tyrant's  power, 

So  fair,  so  calm,  so  softly  sealed 

The  first,  last  look  by  death  revealed !" 

As  Edith  stood  leaning  over  the  dead,  all  the  former  years 
of  her  life  passed  before  her  in  solemn  review.  The  days  of 
infancy,  and  the  sweet  cradle-hymn  that  soothed  her  restless 
hours ;  the  evening  prayer  first  whispered  at  her  mother's 
knee ;  the  words  of  instruction  by  the  wayside,  under  the  green 
trees,  along  flowery  garden-paths,  and  by  the  river's  brink, — all 
murmured  their  impressive  lessons  once  more.  The  succeeding 
years  of  increasing  solicitude  ;  the  holy  example  of  that  spot- 
less life ;  the  gentle,  loving  ministry  which  she  exercised  in  her 
household,  as  she  went  in  and  out  among  them,  a  living  epistle 
of  the  holy  doctrines  of  Christ.  Her  gradual  decline,  so 
sweetly  illumined  by  bright  visions  from  the  land  of  Beulah  ; 
her  peaceful  death-bed  ;  her  glorious  hopes  ;  her  triumph  over 
the  last  enemy ;  but,  most  of  all,  the  impressive  charge  which 
she  left  alone  to  her.  She  recalled  every  word  and  look  of  that 
solemn  hour,  and  throwing  herself  upon  her  knees,  and  press- 
ing her  lips  upon  the  cold  hand,  she  renewed  her  vow  of  devo- 
tion to  the  loved  ones  at  home.  "  Hear  me,  oh,  my  Father," 
she  prayed,  from  the  deep  recesses  of  a  self-denying  heart, 
"hear  me,  in  the  awful  presence  of  the  dead,  and  before  Thee, 
renew  the  vow  made  to  my  dear  mother,  that  so  long  as  they 
shall  need  a  sister's  care,  I  give  myself  to  them.  O,  give  me 
grace  to  live  before  them  as  a  Christian  ought  to  live."  She 
knelt  in  silence  some  minutes  longer.  Thoughts  of  Gerald, 
and  her  early  love,  came  up  swiftly  before  her  heart.  She  felt 
that  she  might  be  called  to  resign  that  cherished  hope ;  and  as 
the  poor  heart  swelled  with  anguish  at  even  the  distant  pros- 
12 


178  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

pect,  she  pressed  her  hand  upon  it  to  still  its  beatings,  while 
showers  of  scalding  tears  fell  upon  the  cold  face  over  which  she 
bent  in  sorrow, 

This  was,  indeed,  an  hour  when  the  deep  baptism  of  a  sacred 
grief  consecrated  the  lofty  heart  anew  to  God;  and  when  Edith 
Clifford  arose  from  that  kneeling  posture,  she  felt  that  the  rosy 
dreams  of  youth  were  fading  from  her  sight.  A  cross  lay  in 
the  path  once  strewed  with  flowers ;  and  with  a  youthful  Chris- 
tian's fortitude  she  took  it  up,  pressed  it  to  her  bosom,  and  with 
eyes  raised  to  heaven,  she  implored  a  Father's  blessing.  There 
are  seasons  in  the  history  of  every  human  heart,  when,  under 
the  discipline  of  trial,  in  one  short  hour  the  character  under- 
goes, as  it  were,  almost  a  second  renewal,  in  the,  waters  of  the 
baptism  of  grief.  Such  an  hour  was  this  to  Edith  Clifford. 
She  could  be  no  more  what  she  had  been;  the  light-hearted- 
ness  of  youth  had  vanished  before  the  dawning  of  that  high 
and  holy  self-denial,  which  henceforth  marked  her  daily  life. 

So  deeply  was  she  engrossed  by  her  thoughts,  that  she  had 
not  perceived  dear  old  nurse,  who  had  entered  without  her 
knowledge,  now  standing  silently  by  her  side.  Leaning  over 
the  form  which  she  had  loved  almost  as  her  own  child,  while 
tears  rained  over  her  aged  cheeks,  she  said,  "  O,  Miss  Edith ! 
what  we  have  lost !  How  can  I  bear  to  go  into  her  room  again? 
I  was  the  first  to  take  her  in  my  arms  when  she  drew  her  infant 
breath.  I  nursed  her  through  all  her  sweet  childhood.  I  held 
her  when  she  was  baptized.  I  stood  by  her  on  the  day  of  con- 
firmation. I  helped  to  dress  her  for  the  wedding-day, — O, 
what  a  sweet  bride  she  was!  They  say  that  Blanche  is  beauti- 
ful as  an  angel ;  but  she  is  not  so  sweet  as  my  lovely  Mary  was, 
on  that  bright  and  happy  day.  These  aged  arms  have  nursed 
all  her  dear  children.  I  watched  her  last  breath,  and  saw  her 
leave  us  for  the  skies ;  and  I  must  dress  her  for  the  grave — 
shan't  I,  dear  Miss  Edith  ?  Let  me  touch  her  last ;  do  not  let 
a  stranger's  hand  come  near  her." 

"You  shall  have  your  wish,  dear  nurse,"  replied  Edith.  "I 
could  not  bear  any  one  else  to  perform  these  offices  for  her." 

"  I  can  never  tell  you,  Miss  Edith,  what  a  dear,  sweet,  affec- 


THE    BAPTISM    OF    GRIEF.  179 

tionate  child  she  was, — always  so  good  to  her  loving  old  nurse. 
I  think  that  she  must  have  been  one  of  those,  sanctified  from 
the  very  day  of  her  birth,  for  she  always  seemed  to  me  like  a 
Christian ;  but  I  hope  to  meet  her  in  heaven.  I  trust  in  the 
same  Saviour;  and  many  are  the  sweet  talks  we  have  had 
about  our  home  in  the  heavens." 

After  a  few  more  affectionate  words,  the  faithful  old  nurse  led 
Edith  to  her  room,  persuaded  her  to  lie  down,  and  sat  by  her 
bed  repeating  comforting  passages  from  the  Bible,  bathing  her 
aching  head,  and  ministering  to  her  wants  in  all  those  name- 
less ways  so  precious  to  a  suffering  heart.  She  was  one  of 
those  household  blessings,  spoken  of  as  performing  her  duties 
"  in  singleness  of  heart,  as  to  the  Lord,  and  not  to  men ;"  and 
even  in  the  humble  capacity  of  a  domestic,  received  from  all 
the  respect  and  love  which  she  so  richly  merited. 

On  the  second  day  after  Mrs.  Clifford's  death,  Mrs.  Morris 
and  her  family  arrived,  dressed  in  very  fashionable  mourning. 
She  avoided  her  sister's  chamber,  visiting  it  but  once,  for  the 
sight  of  death  was  unwelcome  to  her  worldly  spirit.  Nor 
would  she  allow  her  daughters  to  visit  the  room,  as  she  said  it 
would  only  make  them  gloomy.  She  felt  herself  sadly  at  a 
loss  in  her  ignorant  endeavors  to  comfort  the  heart  of  her 
niece. 

"  I  would  not  grieve,  Edith,"  said  she  ;  "  your  mother  was 
always  a  very  good  Avoman,  she  never  did  any  harm  in  the 
world,  and  I  dare  say  that  she  is  in  heaven,  if  anybody  is 
there." 

"Do  not  talk  so,  dear  aunt,"  replied  Edith.  "My  dear 
mother's  hopes  were  all  anchored 'in  the  rock  Christ  Jesus;  that 
was  the  only  ground  of  her  peace." 

"You  do  not  pietend  to  say  that  your  mother  was  a  sin- 
ner ?" 

"  Dear  mamma  had  a  very  humble  opinion  of  herself,  aunt. 
She  tried  herself  by  the  spirituality  of  God's  law,  which  con- 
demns the  most  holy.  All  her  goodness  was  divine.;  this  she 
realized  constantly,  and  always  gave  the  glory  of  her  salvation 
wholly  to  the  Lord  Jesus." 


180  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Her  cousins  liked  to  hear  the  account  which  Edith  gave  of 
her  mother's  departure,  and  secretly  thought  that  there  must  be 
something  in  that  religion  which  could  so  sweetly  comfort  in 
the  hour  of  death.  On  the  third  day,  a  ring  at  the  front  door 
announced  the  arrival  of  a  stranger,  and  Uncle  Peter  came  up 
to  say  that  Mr.  Cameron  was  down  stairs,  and  had  asked  for 
Miss  Edith.  Not  wishing  to  treat  him  as  a  stranger,  Edith 
went  to  the  drawing-room  to  receive  him.  She  had  not  seen 
him  for  nearly  two  years.  Having  completed  his  college  course, 
while  they  were  absent  in  Europe,  he  had  been  ever  since 
travelling,  and  having  just  returned,  he  had  heard  of  Mrs. 
Clifford's  death,  and  had  hastened  to  offer  his  condolence  to  the 
afflicted  family. 

He  had  greatly  improved,  and  was  a  fine,  noble-looking 
young  man.  with  a  manly  bearing.  His  eagle  eye  and  firm  lip 
spoke  of  strong  resolve,  and  his  whole  manner  of  a  frank  and 
fearless  character.  But  when  he  arose  to  meet  Edith,  in  her 
mourning  garb,  the  melting  of  his  eye  and  the  quivering  of  his 
lip  spoke  of  a  heart  full  of  Christian  sympathy. 

"  I  need  not  say,  Miss  Clifford,  that  I  sympathize  with  you  in 
this  hour  of  sorrow.  You  know  how  I  valued  your  dear 
mother,  and  I  can  imagine  something  of  what  you  have  suffered, 
for  I  have  passed  through  the  same  heavy  trial." 

After  some  minutes  spent  in  serious  conversation,  Ralph 
inquired  for  the  family,  and  especially  for  Madge.  "  Can  I  see 
her,  Miss  Clifford?" 

"I  will  send  her  to  you,"  replied  Edith,  and  leaving  the 
room,  she  had  some  difficulty  in  persuading  Madge  to  go  to  the 
drawing-room. 

Two  years  had  made  a  great  change  in  Madge.  She  was  no 
longer  a  child.  The  then  swarthy  little  girl  had  given  place 
to  the  interesting  young  maiden.  Her  figure,  though  small,  was 
graceful.  Her  complexion  had  lost  its  sallowness,  and  a  rich 
coloring  imparted  new  brilliancy  to  those  lustrous  eyes,  now 
more  beautiful  than  ever,  lit  up,  as  they  were,  by  the  fire  of  a 
sparkling  intellect.  One  could  almost  imagine  that  they 
emitted  rays  of  light  when  animated.  But  on  this  occasion, 


THE   BAPTISM   OF  GRIEF.  181 

when  under  the  influence  of  grief,  their  melting  tenderness 
touched  the  heart  of  Ralph  Cameron,  as  he  respectfully  and 
kindly  met  the  young  girl.  'Tis  true,  that  the  want  of  regu- 
larity in  her  features  made  it  impossible  to  call  her  beautiful ; 
but  the  rich,  dark  hair,  fine  teeth,  and  variable  expression,  made 
hers  always  an  interesting  face, 

Ralph  felt,  in  the  modest  reserve  with  which  she  advanced  to 
met  her  old  friend,  that  she  was  no  longer  a  child,  but  a 
youthful  maiden,  on  the  very  borders  of  dream-land,  shrinking 
with  intuitive  and  graceful  modesty  from  his  cordial  greeting. 
In  former  days,  he  would  have  taken  the  little  hand,  led  her  to 
a  seat  by  his  side,  and  called  her  Madge ;  but  now  he  seated 
himself  at  some  distance,  and  addressed  her  kindly,  but  some- 
what formally,  as  Miss  Margaret.  Their  talk  was  of  the  de- 
parted, and  Ralph  took  advantage  of  the  softened  mood  of  her 
spirit  to  remark  upon  the  blessedness  of  those  hopes  which 
sustain  the  dying  Christian.  He  was  grieved  to  find  that  the 
shadow  still  shrouded  her  spirit,  and  feared  that  the  influence 
of  Josephine  Fortescue  was  yet  in  the  ascendant. 

He  remained  with  the  family  until  after  the  funeral,  which 
took  place  on  the  fourth  day.  The  sad  morning  at  last  arrived 
when  the  precious  remains  were  to  be  removed  from  their  sight. 
Their  good  pastor,  Mr.  Berkely,  had  been  unremitting  in  his 
attentions  during  the  whole  of  their  affliction.  On  this  sad 
morning  he  carne  at  an  early  hour,  and  by  his  kind  counsels 
and  earnest  prayers  strengthened  them  for  the  last  duty  which 
remained.  When  coming  in  sight  of  the  old  village  church- 
yard, where  reposed  the  remains  of  the  Ravenswood  family, 
the  solemn  tolling  of  the  church-bells  struck  upon  the  hearts  of 
the  bereaved  with  that  sad  melody,  which  seems  to  say,  "  Fare- 
well, farewell,  farewell !"  To  Edith's  heart  it  spoke  of  hope 
and  reunion  in  heaven;  to  Madge,  of  the  gloomy,  and  dreary 
grave,  and  the  uncertain  future.  As  the  sound  came  borne  to 
Edith  on  the  fitful  breeze,  sometimes  swelling  up  to  heaven 
and  then  faintly  dying  away,  they  soothed,  instead  of  depress- 
ing her  spirit ;  for  she  could  well  apply  the  sentiment  of  the 
following  lines  to  her  sainted  mother: 


182  EDITH'S  MINISTRY, 

"Soft  the  bell,  for  saints  departed, 

Hopeful  tolls  their  funeral  knell: 
Comforting  the  broken-hearted : 
Rest  in  Jesus  tolls  the  bell. 

Best  in  Jesus, 
Seems  upon  the  air  to  swell." 

Inexpressibly  sweet  were  the  sublime  passages  with  which 
their  good  pastor  committed  the  precious  dust  to  the  tomb,  in 
the  hope  of  a  joyful  resurrection  ;  and  in  the  grave-yard  of  old 
St.  John's,  by  the  side  of  her  sleeping  family,  they  left  the 
seeds  of  immortality. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  after  the  funeral,  Edith  remem- 
bered her  promise  to  her  dying  mother,  and,  with  trembling 
heart,  rang  the  bell  at  the  usual  time  of  evening  prayer.  The 
servants  looked  on,  wondering  at  their  young  mistress,  and 
when  all  assembled  in  the  library  except  the  father,  she  looked 
around  with  consternation,  for  there  sat  Ralph  Cameron,  and 
her  worldly  aunt  and  cousins.  How  could  she  possibly 
conduct  such  a  service,  in  their  presence?  she  whispered  a  word 
to  Ralph,  who  kindly  assented  to  her  proposal.  Then,  with  a 
solemn  manner,  she  acquainted  her  family  with  her  mother's 
last  injunction,  and  added,  "All  who  love  the  memory  of  our 
dear  mother  will  respect  her  last  request,  and  will  always  be 
present  on  these  occasions,  morning  and  evening."  Then,  with 
a  quivering  lip  and  trembling  voice,  she  read  a  portion  of  the 
Scriptures,  and,  as  all  bowed  down  before  the  Lord,  Ralph 
Cameron  consecrated  this  family  altar  by  an  earnest,  fervent 
prayer,  and  while  he  supplicated  for  strength  and  wisdom  for 
the  youthful  head  of  this  family,  she  felt  her  heart  strength- 
ened for  her  new  duties. 

Ere  Ralph  took  his  departure,  he  sought  an  opportunity  of 
conversing  freely  with  Madge.  It  was  for  some  days  ere  he 
could  find  her  alone,  but  one  evening,  strolling  about  among 
the  grounds,  he  observed  the  object  of  his  search,  reading  very 
intently,  in  one  of  the  summer-houses.  Ere  she  was  aware  of 
his  approach,  he  was  by  her  side.  Hastily  putting  by  her  book, 
she  appeared  at  first  embarrassed. 

"What  are  you  reading,  Miss  Margaret?"  asked  Ralph, 


THE   BAPTISM   OF   GRIEF.  183 

"A  book,  lent  me  by  a  friend,"  answered  Madge. 

"  May  I  not  see  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,  I  have  no  objection." 

"  My  young  friend,  this  is  not  a  proper  book  for  you ;  it  may 
greatly  shake  your  faith,"  answered  Ralph,  as  he  quietly  took 
possession  of  the  volume. 

"Will  you  please  hand  it  to  me,  Mr.  Cameron?"  said  the 
young  girl,  with  a  kindling  eye. 

"  No,  Miss  Margaret,  excuse  me,  I  shall  hand  it  to  your 
sister;  she  is  your  appointed  gardiau,  and  will  do  just  what 
your  mother  would  have  done, — banish  the  book  from  her 
family." 

"You  are  really  taking  a  great  liberty,  Mr.  Cameron," 
replied  the  young  girl,  haughtily.  "  I  am  not  a  child,  now." 

"  That  is  true ;  but,  even  though  you  were  thirty,  instead  of 
seventeen,  I  should  remove  poison  from  your  reach." 

"  It  seems  very  cowardly,  Mr.  Cameron,  to  be  unwilling  to 
read  the  arguments  of  these  philanthropists.  If  you  are  so  sure 
of  your  cause,  I  should  suppose  that  you  would  be  willing  to 
read  anything." 

"  Will  you  tell  me,  Miss  Margaret,  what  they  propose  to 
give  us  in  the  place  of  the  Bible?  If  they  wish  to  overthrow 
it,  what  better  book  can  they  send  to  us  ?"  inquired  Kalph. 

Madge  looked  somewhat  perplexed,  as  she  replied,  "  I  have 
never  thought  of  that,  Mr.  Cameron ;  that  is  a  serious  question 
to  answer." 

Leaving  the  subject,  with  this  suggestion,  he  remained  firm 
in  his  determination  to  give  the  infidel  book  into  the  hands  of 
Edith ;  and,  although  the  proud  nature  of  Madge  Clifford 
writhed  under  the  assumption  of  authority,  something  of  her 
old  feeling  of  submission  returned,  as  she  bowed  beneath  his 
strength,  and  felt  assured  of  the  pure  friendship  which  dictated 
the  action.  As  they  walked  back  to  the  house,  Madge  was 
very  thoughtful,  and  Ralph  perceived  that  a  tear  trembled  in 
her  eye,  as  she  turned  to  go  to  her  room.  Arriving  there,  she 
sat  down  by  the  side  of  her  table,  and  leaning  her  head  upon 
her  hands  and  closing  her  eyes,  she  thought  long  and  earnestly 


184  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

upon  the  subject  of  their  conversation.  Instead,  however,  of 
turning  to  the  word  of  God  for  instruction,  and  to  the  Spirit  of 
God  for  light,  she  opened  one  of  those  dangerous  books  with 
which  Josephine  had  supplied  her,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the  maze 
of  darkness  and  bewilderment  in  which  they  shrouded  her  soul. 
Poor  Madge!  weary  days  of  wandering  through  tangled 
thickets  and  many  a  sad  plunge  in  the  Valley  of  Despond  are 
before  you ;  and  yet,  there  was  one  silver  thread  just  trembling 
before  her  vision  when  Ralph  had  asked  her  the  one  important 
question.  Could  she  but  have  followed  that  friendly  clue  and 
gone  to  God's  holy  word  for  the  answer,  many  hours  of  anguish 
might  have  been  saved  to  the  poor  misguided  girl. 

In  a  few  days,  Ralph  took  leave  of  her,  with  the  promise, 
that  she  would  answer  his  letters.  As  soon  as  possible, 
Edith  made  all  the  family  regulations,  conforming  entirely 
to  her  mother's  plans.  For  a  while,  all  went  on  smoothly. 
Having  so  many  cares,  she  had  left  the  school-room,  but  de- 
voted a  portion  of  each  day  to  her  mental  improvement. 
She  had  laid  by  the  harp,  and  for  some  months  could  not 
bear  to  uncover  the  instrument,  it  was  so  much  associated 
with  her  mother,  Edith  was  a  fine  performer,  and  had  be- 
guiled many  a  sad  hour,  so  long  as  her  parent  visited  the 
drawing-room.  Now,  the  harp  stood  silent,  in  a  corner  of  the 
closed  room. 

The  care  of  the  family  had  fallen  upon  Edith  at  a  very 
critical  and  trying  period.  Frank,  being  but  one  year 
younger  than  Edith,  could  only  be  reached  through  the 
power  of  silent  influence ;  Madge,  nearly  seventeen,  was  no 
longer  a  child,  and,  with  her  strong  will  and  self-reliant 
spirit,  was  not  at  all  likely  to  submit  to  an  elder  sister. 
Blanche  and  Adele  were  now  fifteen,  and  their  sister  trem- 
bled as  she  thought  of  the  responsibilities  which  rested  upon 
her.  Little  blind  Lilly  clung  to  her,  as  a  second  mother, 
and  though  she  constantly  spoke  of  her  departed  parent,  she 
soon  learned  to  love  dear  sister  Edith,  and  to  wind  the  ten- 
drils of  her  affectionate  nature  as  closely  around  her  as  she 
had  around  her  beloved  mother.  Little  Emily  was  a  prat- 


THE    BAPTISM    OF    GRIEF.  185 

tling  child  of  three  years,  and  was  a  bright  sunbeam  in  the 
household. 

It  was  Edith's  custom,  after  evening  worship,  always  to 
retire,  with  her  younger  sisters,  to  their  chamber,  where  she 
endeavored  to  impart  to  them  such  religious  instruction  as 
they  needed ;  she  taught  them  how  to  review  the  day,  and 
even  little  Emily  began  to  lisp  about  the  right  and  wrong. 
One  evening,  Edith  was  seated,  with  her  little  sister  in  her 
lap,  whispering  those  sweet,  dewy  words,  which  distil  so 
gently  in  the  twilight  hour.  Lilly  stood  by  her  side,  with 
Edith's  arm  around  her  waist,  and  Emily  nestled  closely  to 
her  sister's  bosom,  asking  those  questions  which  so  often 
puzzle  the  budding  intellect,  and  as  often  bewilder  the  per- 
plexed teacher  to  answer.  Suddenly,  the  child  started,  and 
clapping  her  little  hands  in  delight,  exclaimed,  as  she  leaned 
forward,  to  gaze  out  of  the  window. 

"  Look,  sissy,  there's  dear  mamma's  itty  star." 

"  Where,  Emily  ?"  answered  Edith. 

"  Right  up  there,  just  above  the  big  tree." 

"What  makes  you  call  it  mamma's  star,  Emily?"  asked 
Edith. 

"  Why,  sissy,  she  used  to  take  little  Emily  in  her  lap,  and 
show  her  the  pooty  star  ;  and  she  used  to  talk  so  pooty  to 
little  Emmy  about  God,  who  made  the  pooty  star." 

Lilly  leaned  her  head  on  Edith's  shoulder,  as  she  said,  "  I 
cannot  see  the  star,  sister,  but  I  remember  dear  mamma's 
sweet  words.  I  don't  wonder,  Emmy  calls  it  mamma's  star, 
for  she  used  to  talk  to  us  so  much  about  the  bright  heaven, 
beyond  the  stars.  One  night,  mamma  was  talking  to  little 
Emmy,  when  she  clapped  her  hands,  and  cried  out  suddenly, 
'  Look,  mamma,  God  has  just  made  a  star ;'  I  asked  mamma 
what  she  meant,  and  she  said,  that  she  had  just  spied 
another  bright  star,  and  she  supposed  that  Emmy,  in  her 
innocence,  thought  it  was  just  made." 

Edith  was  greatly  affected  by  the  artless  prattle,  and  told 
them  that  dear  mamma  was  a  blessed  spirit  far  beyond  these 
stars ;  and  that  if  they  were  really  God's  children,  and  loved 


186  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

the  Saviour,  whom  God  had  sent,  they  would  both  be  taken 
when  they  die  to  the  same  happy  home.  Then  kneeling 
down,  with  her  arm  around  each  little  sister,  she  prayed 
that  God  would  bless  them,  and  have  them  all  in  his  holy 
keeping.  After  they  were  undressed,  she  stooped  over  each 
dear  child,  and  imprinted  the  loving  kiss,  which  so  deeply 
seals  holy  teachings  upon  the  infant  heart.  God  speed  thee, 
gentle  sister,  in  thy  holy  ministry !  Angels  sympathize  with 
thee !  Jesus  smiles  on  thee,  and  will  bless  thee. 

But  all  was  not  sunshine  in  Edith's  path.  Frank  was 
still  at  college;  it  was,  however,  his  last  term ;  but  his  letters 
were  neither  so  frequent  nor  so  open,  and  she  feared  she 
knew  not  what.  Anxious  to  have  his  son  engage  in  mer- 
cantile pursuits,  Mr.  Clifford  was  making  inquiries  in  New 
York  for  a  suitable  situation.  Frank  was  greatly  averse  to 
the  plan,  as  he  much  preferred  a  profession ;  but  his  father, 
who  attached  undue  importance  to  wealth,  pointed  to  the 
merchant  princes  of  the  great  metropolis,  and  their  splendid 
palaces,  and  asked  how  many  years  he  might  toil  at  a  pro- 
fession, before  he  could  realize  even  a  maintenance ;  whereas, 
a  successful  merchant  in  a  very  few  years  might  make  an 
independent  fortune. 

Mr.  Clifford,  accustomed  to  carry  out  his  own  views,  never 
rested  until  he  obtained  his  son's  consent  to  embark  in  that 
pursuit.  Accordingly,  he  obtained  for  him  a  situation  in 
one  of  the  most  wealthy  and  prominent  firms  in  New  York ; 
and  much  to  his  satisfaction,  he  was  to  reside  in  the  family  of 
his  employer. 

At  the  close  of  the  college  term,  the  family  were  on  the 
tiptoe  of  expectation.  Dear  Frank  was  coming,  and  his 
advent  was  always  a  joyous  occasion.  The  sisters  were 
dressed  at  an  early  hour,  and  waiting  long  before  the  time 
at  the  entrance  of  the  avenue,  for  the  first  sight  of  the  ex- 
pected one.  At  length  the  approach  of  a  carriage  set  their 
hearts  to  beating,  and  the  wave  of  a  cap  out  of  the  window 
sent  Blanche  and  Adeie  flying  down  the  road,  keeping  pace 
with  the  carriage-wheels,  until  they  arrived  at  the  gate. 


THE    BAPTISM    OF    GRIEF.  187 

Frank  stepped  out,  and  taking  in  the  twins  and  little  Emily, 
drove  rapidly  up  to  the  house.  Their  greeting  was  joyous, 
but  Edith  was  not  quite  satisfied.  She  thought  that  Frank 
avoided  her  eyes,  and  wondered  what  was  the  matter. 

After  supper,  missing  Frank,  she  stepped  into  the  library, 
and  there  sat  her  brother,  with  his  head  leaning  on  his 
hands,  and  his  whole  aspect  deeply  dejected.  Advancing 
towards  him,  Edith  threw  her  arms  around  him,  and  whis- 
pered, "Dear  Frank,  what  is  the  matter?  You  are  sad. 
Mother  is  not  here  to  counsel  you.  Shall  I  not  know  your 
troubles  ?" 

Turning  to  his  sister,  with  a  burning  cheek  and  eyes  brimful 
of  tears,  he  said,  "Sister,  I  am  trying  to  school  myself  into 
submission  to  my  father's  will ;  but,  indeed,  I  think  it  very 
hard.  I  am  an  only  son ;  and  it  seems  too  bad  that  I  am  to 
be  compelled  to  follow  what  I  so  much  dislike." 

"  What  do  you  prefer,  Frank  ?" 

"  I  wish  to  be  a  lawyer ;  all  my  studies  have  been  directed 
that  way ;  for  I  did  not  suppose  that  father  would  control  my 
choice." 

"Father  has  obtained  one  of  the  best  situations  in  New 
York  for  you,  Frank,"  answered  Edith  ;  "and  then  you  are  to 
live  in  Mr.  Austin's  family ;  perhaps,  if  you  try  it,  you  may 
like  it  better  than  you  suppose.  Just  try  it  one  year  to  please 
father ;  will  you,  dear  Frank  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  you  know,  sister,  that  I  have  promised,  and  that 
is  sufficient.  I  will  not  break  my  word  to  father ;  but  I  feel 
that  I  shall  never  be  able  to  endure  it." 

While  Frank  was  at  home,  he  visited  New  York  more  fre- 
quently than  Edith  liked;  and  from  his  conversation,  she 
learned  that  it  was  always  to  see  some  new  performance  at  the 
theatre.  She  was  grieved,  but  could  not  say  much,  as  her 
father  encouraged  his  visits,  and  seemed  almost  as  much 
interested  as  Frank  himself  in  the  accounts  which  he  gave  of 
these  entertainments. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  few  weeks,  the  time  had  arrived  for 
Frank  to  enter  upon  his  new  duties.  Of  a  warm,  impulsive 


188  EDITH'S  MINISTEY. 

nature,  with  a  mind  aspiring  after  fame,  he  could  illy  brook 
the  prospect  of  the  dull,  monotonous  confinement  of  the  mer- 
chant's desk. 

On  the  evening  before  his  departure,  Edith  entered  his 
room,  and  seating  herself  by  his  side,  she  laid  a  small  package 
in  his  hand.  "Take  this,  dear  Frank,"  said  the  faithful  sister ; 
"  'tis  our  mother's  Bible  ;  you  will  see  how  well  it  has  been 
used ;  it  was,  indeed,  '  a  lamp  to  her  feet,  and  a  light  to  her 
path.'  Tis  full  of  her  own  marks ;  may  it  be  the  faithful 
counsellor  of  your  life,  dear  brother." 

Frank's  eyes  drooped  beneath  his  sister's  warm  appeal,  for 
he  felt  conscious  that  he  had  greatly  neglected  his  religious 
duties  in  the  bustle  and  temptation  of  a  college  life.  More- 
over, he  had  formed  acquaintances  whom  he  expected  to  meet 
in  New  York,  and  whom  he  knew  that  his  sister  would  not 
approve  of.  But  taking  the  volume,  he  laid  it  carefully  away 
in  his  trunk,  while  his  sister's  silent  prayer  was  dropped  in 
the  golden  censer,  whose  incense  is  ever  ascending  to  the 
mercy-seat. 

It  was  a  drizzly,  cheerless  morning  when  Frank  took  his 
departure ;  but  great  pains  had  been  taken  to  make  all  bright 
within.  Everything  had  been  arranged  for  his  comfort;  his 
clothes  had  been  neatly  prepared  under  his  sister's  eye,  and  his 
trunk  as  carefully  packed.  A  nice  warm  breakfast  of  smoking 
coffee,  boiled  eggs,  and  his  favorite  warm  cakes  were  all  waiting 
for  him  when  he  entered  the  breakfast-room ;  and  there,  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  sat  dear  Edith,  smiling  a  sad  welcome  as  she 
greeted  him  with  "  Good-morning,  dear  brother ;  though  it  is  a 
very  early  hour,  you  see  we  are  all  here  to  eat  our  last  break- 
fast together ;"  and  she  looked  around  affectionately  upon  the 
group,  all  present  but  little  Emily.  She  endeavored  to  be 
cheerful,  for  she  saw  that  the  tears  would  swell  in  Frank's 
eyes,  and  the  lip  would  quiver  as  he  looked  around  upon  the 
dear  home-circle.  "  You  must  write  once  a  week,  Frank,"  said 
Edith,  "for  we  shall  all  be  very  anxious  to  hear  of  your  wel- 
fare." When  the  prayer-bell  rang,  Edith  detained  him  one 
minute  in  the  breakfast-room  ere  he  arose  from  his  chair, 


THE   BAPTISM   OF   GRIEF.  189 

and  passing  her  fingers  caressingly  through  the  mass  of  dark 
curls  which  lay  around  his  forehead,  which  she  tenderly  kissed, 
she  said,  "Frank,  beware  of  bad  .companions,  and  do  not  fre- 
quent the  theatre;  it  is  too  fascinating  for  you — it  will  do 
you  harm." 

Leading  the  way  to  the  library,  Frank  silently  followed,  and 
it  was  with  feelings  very  near  akin  to  veneration  that  he  bowed 
his  knee,  as  he  listened  to  Edith's  supplications  for  her  dear 
brother,  about  to  meet  the  world's  temptations  and  responsi- 
bilities. In  a  very  few  minutes  the  carriage  s,ood  at  the  door, 
ready  to  convey  the  gentle  youth  away  from  his  home. 
Frank  bade  his  sisters  a  tearful  adieu,  and  throwing  his  arms 
once  more  around  Edith,  she  whispered,  "  Dear  Frank,  write 
often," 

In  another  minute  Mr.  Clifford  and  his  son  were  rapidly 
driving  down  the  avenue,  and  Edith  raised  her  heart  in  prayer 
for  her  beloved  brother,  as  she  saw  him  embarking  for  "  the 
wide,  wide  world."  "Never  forsake  him,  Edith,  let  what  may 
happen ;"  these  solemn  words  seemed  again  to  speak  to  her 
from  the  deep  solitude  of  her  mother's  grave,  and  she  mentally 
answered,  "  Never,  dear  mother,  though  all  the  world  should 
cast  him  off." 

In  about  a  week  she  received  her  first  letter.  He  wrote  but 
little  about  his  business,  but  appeared  charmed  with  the  family, 
where  he  was  soon  domesticated.  There  were  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Austin,  one  son,  and  two  daughters.  They  were  very  gay  and 
fashionable  people.  Eveleen  Austin  was  a  remarkably  inter- 
esting and  lovely  girl ;  the  son  a  dashing  gay  fellow,  entirely 
devoted  to  the  world  and  its  follies.  After  he  had  been  some 
months  in  New  York,  his  letters  became  less  frequent,  and 
Edith's  anxiety  led  her  to  write,  begging  an  answer.  In  a  day 
or  two  she  received  the  following  : 

DEAR  SISTER  :  I  am  sorry  to  have  distressed  you,  but  I  have 
been  so  busy  lately  in  the  evening,  that  I  have  scarcely  found 
time  to  write.  Mr.  Austin's  family  are  almost  always  occupied 
in  some  pleasure,  and  I  am  generally  invited  to  be  of  the  party. 


190  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

The  young  ladies  are  in  need  of  my  services,  and  you  know 
that  common  politeness  leads  me  to  accept  of  their  invitation. 

I  wish  that  you  could  see  Eveleen  Austin  ;  I  think  that  you 
would  be  charmed  with  her.  She  is  almost  as  lovely  as  Sister 
Blanche ;  and  what  I  know  would  recommend  her  to  you  is, 
that  she  is  kind  to  your  unworthy  brother.  I  do  not  think 
she  cares  so  much  for  worldly  things  as  the  rest.  I  never 
neglect  attendance  upon  the  house  of  God  once  on  the  Sabbath ; 
and  although  the  family  seldom  go  to  church,  Eveleen  is 
always  ready  to  accompany  me.  She  seems  almost  like  a  little 
sister,  hems  my  handkerchiefs,  mends  my  gloves,  puts  strings 
on  my  collars,  and  sees  after  all  these  little  matters  so  modestly 
and  generously  that  I  feel  greatly  indebted  to  her. 

Sometimes  I  read  to  the  family  when  they  are  at  home.  I 
have  formed  some  acquaintances  among  young  men  of  the  best 
families.  I  suppose,  dear  Edith,  that  you  would  think  them 
too  fashionable  for  Brother  Frank,  but  you  know  that  I  am  not 
a  professor  of  religion,  and  do  not  feel  under  the  same  restraints 
as  if  I  were.  I  think  that  I  can  stand  firm  against  any  of  the 
vices  of  young  men,  for  when  they  tempt  me  I  hear  my 
mother's  prayers,  and  feel  my  sister's  hand  gently  pointing  me 
another  way.  Do  not  be  afraid,  Edith.  Thus  far  have  I  kept 
free  from  vice,  and  although  the  young  men  of  New  York  are 
very  dissipated,  I  am  not  afraid  to  associate  with  them. 

I  belong  to  a  spouting  club  that  calls  me  out  once  a  week. 
Our  object  is  to  improve  ourselves  in  elocution  and  recitation. 
Once  a  month  the  ladies  join  us,  to  witness  our  performance. 
I  am  endeavoring  to  become  accustomed  to  my  business,  but  it 
is  very  distasteful  thus  far.  Give  my  love  to  all  the  dear  faces 
around  the  hearth  at  Ravenswood,  and  write  frequently,  even 
though  you  do  not  hear  as  often  as  you  write.  It  is  late  at 
night,  and  I  must  bid  you  farewell.  I  am  very  tired  and 
sleepy,  so  no  more  at  present.  Your  affectionate  brother, 

FRANK. 

Edith  read  the  letter  carefully.  Its  contents  troubled  her. 
In  a  very  worldly  family,  daily  in  the  society  of  a  charming 


THE   BAPTrSM   OF   GRIEF.  191 

girl,  having  gay  and  fashionable  associates,  attending  upon 
demoralizing  amusements,  a  member  of  a  spouting  club,  and 
worst  of  all,  confident  iu  his  own  strength.  She  took  her  heavy 
burden  and  laid  it  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  praying  that  he  would 
lead  her  cherished  brother  into  paths  of  peace.  As  soon  as 
possible  she  returned  an  answer,  full  of  kind  sisterly  advice, 
and  pointing  out  most  faithfully  the  dangers  by  which  he  was 
surrounded.  She  still  heard  constantly  from  Gerald.  His 
letters  were  always  refreshing,  for  they  were  full  of  assurances 
of  unaltered  affection,  and  contained  pleasant  intelligence  of 
the  progress  that  he  was  making  in  his  art.  He  looked  forward 
to  reunion  with  those  he  loved  in  another  year. 

Having  received  letters  containing  the  intelligence  of  Mrs. 
Clifford's  death,  his  notice  of  the  sad  bereavement  was  full  of 
tender  sympathy.  When  Edith  received  his  last  letter  she  was 
peculiarly  depressed,  and  wrote  under  the  influence  of  this 
feeling : 

"  You  cannot  imagine,  Gerald,  what  a  comfort  your  letters 
are  to  me ;  for,  bowed  down  as  I  have  been,  by  my  recent  loss 
and  by  the  cares  which  daily  oppress  me,  I  often  feel  the  need 
of  human  sympathy.  When  I  review,  dear  Gerald,  the  events 
of  the  last  few  months,  it  seems  as  if  years  had  elapsed,  so  much 
of  suffering  has  been  condensed  into  that  short  period.  How 
different  are  my  feelings  now  from  what  they  were  after  that 
summer  evening,  when  you  first  declared  your  love  for  me! 

"How  sweet  were  my  dreams  that  evening,  'and  how  blessed 
was  my  awakening ;'  but  Gerald,  I  often  feel  as  if  it  were  a 
dream,  that  may  never  be  realized.  Between  us  and  that 
sunny  future  stands  a  pale  shadow,  that  wears  my  mother's 
form,  and  points  away  from  that  enchanted  ground  to  the 
rugged  paths  of  duty. 

"For,  Gerald,  on  her  death-bed,  I  promised  never  to  for- 
sake her  cherished  ones,  so  long  as  they  need  my  care.  I 
renewed  that  vow  before  God,  beside  my  mother's  pale  remains. 
I  feel  it  to  be  just  as  solemn  as  the  one  which  we  took  together, 
at  the  altar  of  our  God,  when,  in  answer  to  the  bishop's  charge, 
I  said,  '  I  do.' 


192  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  These  realities,  dear  Gerald,  have  dissipated  much  of  the 
rosy  mist  in  which  the  future  has  been  enveloped.  I  desire  to 
commit  my  all  to  my  Heavenly  Father.  He  orders  our  goings 
and  chooses  our  lot;  and  though  he  disappoints  our  earthly 
expectations,  he  sends  peace  with  every  trial.  Let  us  commit 
ourselves  to  him,  confident  that  he  will  guide  us  aright.  I  look 
forward  to  your  return  with  great  delight,  for  it  seems  a  long 
time  since  I  have  seen  you.  Frank  is  in  business  in  New  York. 
He  gives  me  much  anxiety.  Madge  is  almost  the  same  way- 
ward girl.  Blanche  grows  more  beautiful  daily,  but  is  still  the 
same  weak  and  fickle  character.  Adele  is  a  bright,  joyous 
creature;  Lilly  a  precious  lamb  of  the  Saviour's  fold,  and  little 
Emily  my  bright  sunbeam.  Miss  Arnold  is  with  us  still. 
They  all  join  in  affectionate  remembrance  to  you,  and  your 
sister. 

"  Good-night,  dear  Gerald.     Write  soon  to  your  own 

"  EDITH." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


BANISHED. 

the  events  of  the  year  that  followed  the 
death  of  Mrs.  Clifford,  there  were  not  wanting 
"many  marks  of  heavenly  adoption  ;  for  to  his  own 
children,  God  sendeth  trials  to  prune  their  char- 
acter, to  purge  away  their  dross ;  like  the  refiner  of 
silver,  he  sitteth  by  the  furnace,  watching  the  pro- 
cess, until  he  sees  his  own  image  reflected  in  his 
child.  Conscious  of  much  weakness,  aware  of  her 
many  deficiencies,  Edith  endeavored,  as  it  were,  daily  to  realize 
the  hand  of  Jesus  leading  her  on  in  her  pilgrim  path.  She  had 
many  glimpses  from  the  "Delectable  Mountains"  of  "Im- 
manuel's  Land,"  but  her  cares  were  for  others. 

For  some  months  after  their  bereavement,  Mr.  Clifford 
seemed  impressed  by  the  counsels  of  his  dying  wife.  Her 
whispered  words  floated  silently  around  him,  in  the  night 
watches  of  his  lonely  chamber,  and  under  their  influence  he 
frequently  read  the  word  of  God,  and  bent  the  knee  in  prayer ; 
but  these  exercises  were  distasteful,  and  were  not  prompted  by 
that  "godly  sorrow  which  worketh  repentance,"  but  by  "the 
sorrow  of  the  world,  which  worketh  death."  Consequently,  the 
echoes  from  that  dying  chamber  became  more  and  more  faint  ; 
as  the  poignancy  of  his  grief  subsided,  these  impressions  van- 
ished. Instead  of  being  regular,  as  at  first,  in  his  attendance 
upon  the  means  of  grace,  he  allowed  trifles  to  detain  him  from 
13  193 


EDITH  9   MINISTRY. 

the  house  of  God ;  and  frequently  Edith  and  her  sisters  went 
alone.  The  powerful  influence  of  his  example,  joined  to  the 
promptings  of  an  unrenewed  nature,  placed  many  difficulties  in 
her  path  of  duty. 

One  Sunday  morning  it  was  slightly  cloudy.  When  the 
hour  for  church  arrived,  Edith  found  her  father  seated  in 
the  library,  in  his  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  reading  a  daily 
paper. 

"  Father,  are  you  not  going  with  us  to-day  ?"  asked  Edith. 

"  No,  daughter,  it  is  too  cloudy.  I  am  tired.  I  was  very 
busy  about  the  farm  yesterday,  and  I  feel  the  need  of  rest." 

She  turned  away  with  a  sigh,  and  thought  of  the  blessed 
rest  which  God  had  provided,  and  entering  the  drawing-room, 
where  she  expected  to  meet  her  sisters,  she  found  that  Adele 
was  absent.  Turning  to  Blanche,  Edith  asked,  "  Where  is 
your  sister  ?  Is  she  not  ready  ?" 

"  She  is  not  well  to-day,  and  wishes  to  stay  at  home,"  an- 
swered Blanche. 

"She  did  not  complain  this  morning,"  answered  Edith. 
Going  to  her  room,  she  knocked  at  her  door. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  said  Adele. 

" 'Tis  I,  your  sister!"  answered  Edith.  "Adele,  let  me 
in." 

After  some  delay,  she  opened  the  door,  and  hastily  con- 
cealed a  book  which  she  was  reading.  Edith  looked  earnestly 
at  the  young  girl,  and  knowing  her  truthfulness,  said,  "  Are 
you  really  indisposed,  Adele,  or  do  you  stay  away  from  church 
to  read  a  favorite  volume  ?" 

'•  I  cannot  tell  an  untruth,  sister,  but  I  really  did  not  wish  to 
go  to-day,  and  obtained  permission  from  father  to  remain  at 
home." 

"  What  would  our  dear  mother  say,  Adele,  to  know  that  you 
are  neglecting  the  house  of  God,  for  the  sake  of  reading  a 
story  ?" 

"  I  don't  see,  Edith,  that  it  makes  much  difference ;  if  my 
heart  is  not  in  the  worship  of  God,  what  is  the  use  of  taking 
my  body  there?" 


BANISHED.  195 

"  You  are  within  reach  of  the  means  01  grace,  and  are  much 
±nore  likely  to  receive  the  gospel  than  by  staying  away  from 
the  sanctuary.  Indeed,  you  grieve  me  very  much  by  this  con- 
duct, Adele." 

"  I  think,  Sister  Edith,  that  you  attempt  to  exercise  too 
much  authority  over  us  now.  I  am  past  fifteen,  and  ought  not 
to  be  regulated  as  if  I  were  a  child." 

"  I  am  not  exercising  authority ;  if  I  were,  I  should  insist 
upon  your  obedience  to  these  family  rules,  but  I  am  only 
advising  you  in  an  affectionate  manner." 

Adele,  conscious  that  she  was  doing  wrong,  betrayed  impa- 
tience, and  said,  "  Well,  Edith,  I  am  not  going  to-day,  so  say 
no  more  about  it." 

"  Good-bye,  dear  Adele,  I  am  sorry  to  leave  you  at  home." 

She  stepped  into  the  carriage  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  felt 
the  truth  of  that  saying,  which  declares  that  "  a  man's  foes 
shall  be  they  of  his  own  household." 

She  did  not  speak  severely  about  these  departures  from  duty, 
but  the  eloquence  of  a  holy  life  preached  silent  volumes  in -the 
presence  of  her  household.  Sometimes  tempted  to  impatience, 
sometimes  to  pride,  her  heart  was  sorely  bowed  down  in  view 
of  her  feeble  Christian  graces. 

But  this  was  the  day  for  the  holy  communion,  and  bringing 
all  her  cares  to  the  feet  of  her  soul's  Redeemer,  she  realized  the 
blessedness  of  this  sacred  season,  and  felt  that  the  feast  was 
indeed  an  unspeakable  privilege,  while  the  Saviour's  banner 
over  her  was  love. 

More  shadows  darkened  the  pathway  of  our  young  pilgrim, 
and  called  for  the  daily,  hourly  exercise  of  faith.  Letters  from 
Frank  troubled  her,  their  tone  was  so  dejected,  and  his  disgust 
with  his  business  daily  increasing.  In  his  visits  home,  he  was 
no  longer  the  joyous,  merry  brother,  spreading  sunshine  all 
around  him ;  but,  in  his  efforts  to  appear  cheerful,  Edith  saw 
that  underneath  the  sparkling  surface  was  hidden  some  secret 
grief.  This  state  of  things  continued  on  the  increase  during 
the  year  that  followed  his  residence  in  New  York.  She  sought, 
frequently,  for  a  private  interview,  but  felt  that  there  was  a 


196  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

barrier  of  ice  between  ber  and  her  beloved  brother.  Instead  of 
the  sweet  affectionate  intercourse  which  had  always  subsisted 
between  them,  there  was  evidently  something  to  be  concealed. 

He  seemed  generally  silent  and  abstracted.  At  night,  the 
lamp  was  burning  in  his  room  until  very  late,  and  Edith's 
heart  sank  within  her  at  the  sound  of  the  measured  footsteps 
pacing  the  floor,  long  after  the  midnight  hour.  The  good 
sister  redoubled  her  kind  attentions,  but  although  Frank 
seemed  often  subdued  by  her  tenderness,  there  was  no  nearer 
approach  to  confidence,  and  sometimes  the  pride  of  her  heart 
rose  up  against  him,  accusing  him  of  ingratitude.  Added  to 
these  trials,  her  power  over  Blanche  and  Adele  was  on  the 
decrease.  As  they  advanced  towards  womanhood,  the  exceed- 
ing beauty  of  Blanche  and  the  fascinations  of  Adele  were 
strong  temptations  to  worldliness ;  and  the  father,  proud  of 
his  children,  was  anxious  that  they  should  both  shine  in  the 
circles  of  fashion.  His  views  of  education  were,  therefore,  all 
in  conformity  with  these  plans. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  year  of  mourning,  Mr.  Clifford 
called  Edith  aside,  and  said,  "  I  do  not  altogether  approve  of 
your  plans  of  education  for  your  sisters.  You  must  remember, 
Edith,  that  they  are  Ravenswoods  as  well  as  Cliffords,  and  are 
entitled  to  the  very  best  society;  it  is,  therefore,  my  intention 
to  educate  them  for  that  elevated  position.  The  exceeding 
loveliness  of  Blanche,  and  the  sparkling  vivacity  and  grace 
of  Adele,  must  not  be  hidden  in  the  shade ;  they  must  be 
highly  accomplished.  I  have,  therefore,  engaged  a  dancing- 
master,  to  give  them  private  lessons.  He  will  come  up  twice 
a  week.  When  they  have  completed  their  education,  it  is  my 
intention  that  they  shall  spend  their  first  winter  in  New 
York." 

Edith's  heart  sank  as  she  listened  to  these  words,  and  she 
mildly  replied,  "Dear  father,  is  this  such  an  education  as 
mother  would  have  approved  ?  You  know  what  she  most 
desired  was  that  they  should  be  sincere  Christians." 

"  You  are  aware,  Edith,  that  I  never  wholly  approved  of 
dear  mother's  views  on  these  subjects;  but  while  she  lived,  I 


BANISHED.  197 

did  not  interfere  with  her.  Now  I  think  that  I  ought  to  carry 
out  niy  own  views." 

"  I  know  my  duty,  as  a  daughter,  dear  father,  too  well  to 
oppose  your  authority,  but  I  am  grieved  to  see  them  brought 
up  only  for  this  fleeting  world." 

The  young  girls  were  delighted  with  the  prospect  of  a 
dancing-master,  for  both  were  very  fond  of  the  amusement. 
Edith  walked  serenely  on,  in  her  consistent  path  of  piety; 
careful  about  all  her  Christian  duties,  setting  a  holy  example 
to  all  about  her,  and  letting  her  light  shine,  not  so  much  by 
obtrusive  words  as  by  her  daily  life. 

The  mercy-seat  was  to  her  a  blessed  refuge,  for  there  she 
could  bring  all  her  l6ved  ones,  there  she  lit  her  daily  lamp, 
there  she  obtained  all  her  supplies  of  divine  grace  ;  and  while 
she  maintained  intercourse  with  heaven,  she  diffused  its 
peaceful  light  around  her  footsteps.  Wider  and  wider  be- 
came the  distance  between  Edith  and  her  father ;  for  as  her 
"  light  shone  brighter  and  brighter  until  the  perfect  day,"  his 
feet  stumbled  more  and  more  over  the  dark  mountains  of 
unbelief. 

She  was  well  aware  that  her  mother's  loss  had  left  a  dreary 
void  in  her  father's  heart,  which  would  be  filled  with  some- 
thing. What  should  it  be  ?  was  the  question  often  asked  herself. 

When  she  found  him  visiting  New  York  during  the  winter 
more  frequently,  especially  when  any  great  star  was  perform- 
ing, and  often  inviting  very  gay  companions  to  his  house,  she 
feared  that  the  world  would  gain  entire  possession  of  his 
heart.  Late  in  the  winter  he  went  down  to  the  city  to  witness 
some  theatrical  performance.  The  next  day  at  the  breakfast- 
table,  he  said,  "  Edith,  I  saw  a  very  fine  play  last  night.  I 
wish  that  you  would  be  a  little  more  like  other  girls.  You 
are  entirely  too  fastidious  about  these  amusements.  What 
objection  can  you  have  to  a  good  play  with  a  fine  moral  ? 
Will  you  not  accompany  me  on  Thursday  evening?  I  think, 
with  so  many  daughters,  I  might  sometimes  have  a  companion 
in  public." 

"Dear   father,   will   you   not  excuse  me?"  replied   Edith. 


198  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"With  my  feeling,  I  could  not  conscientiously  co  cntenance  the 
theatre ;  it  is  one  of  the  vanities  of  the  world,  which  I  re- 
nounced at  the  season  of  confirmation." 

"  Why,  Edith,  I  saw  Mr.  White,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Linnard 
there,  and  they  are  all  members  of  church." 

"And  what  did  you  really  think  of  them,  father?  Did  you 
respect  them,  when  you  met  them  there  ?" 

"  Well,  to  be  candid,  Edith,  I  did  not  feel  much  respect  for 
them." 

"Then,  dear  father,  you  will  never  ask  me  again,  will  you ?" 
said  Edith,  as  rising,  she  laid  her  head  affectionately  on  his 
shoulder,  pressed  her  lips  to  his  cheek,  and  said,  "Anything 
that  does  not  violate  my  obligations  to  God,  I  am  willing  to 
do;  any  personal  sacrifice  I  am  willing  to  make." 

"You  are  a  dear,  good  child,  Edith,  and  shall  never  be 
compelled  to  do  anything  against  your  convictions  of  duty ; 
but  remember,  that  I  think  you  are  sometimes  mistaken.  You 
must  not,  therefore,  interfere  with  your  sisters,  when  I  wish 
them  to  accompany  me.  What  say  you,  girls  ?  will  you  go 
with  me?" 

"Gladly,  dear  father,"  answered  the  twins.  "I  cannot  see 
any  great  harm,"  replied  Adele,  "  for  we  are  not  members  of 
church,  and  are  not  trammelled  by  its  rigid  rules." 

"They  are  not  rigid,  dear  Adele,"  replied  Edith.  "I  would 
not,  if  I  might,  frequent  these  places,  for  the  service  of  God 
has  higher  joys  than  these  to  offer." 

All  inwardly  respected  the  principles  which  guided  hei 
conduct.  It  had  its  influence,  though  yet  unseen.  In  all 
things  where  her  duty  to  God  was  not  infringed  upon,  she 
was  the  respectful,  self-denying  daughter,  the  kind  and  faithful 
sister.  The  seeds  of  love,  so  patiently  sown  by  her  gentle 
hand,  were  germinating  deep  down  in  the  soul  of  human 
hearts  ;  and  though  now  it  might  be  said  of  her,  she  goeth 
forth  and  weepeth,  bearing  precious  seed,  "yet  she  doubtless 
shall  come  again  with  rejoicing,  bringing  her  sheaves  with 
her,"  when  the  reaping-time  shall  come,  and  she  shall  humbly 
lay  them  down  at  Jesus'  feet. 


BANISHED.  199 

Kalph  visited  them  occasionally,  and  was  always  openly 
welcomed  by  Edith,  ami  secretly  by  Madge ;  for  although  she 
professed  great  independence,  she  could  not  wholly  shake  off 
the  power  of  thai  influence  which  she  endeavored  to  resist. 

In  one  of  his  visits  he  appeared  depressed,  and  sought  an 
opportunity  of  conversing  alone  with  Edith.  Entering  the 
library,  he  found  her  seated  there,  engaged  in  her  daily  read- 
ings. Drawing  his  chair  near,  lie  said,  kindly,  but  sadly, 

"  Miss  Clifford,  I  do  not  wish  to  distress  you,  but  I  fear  that 
Frank  is  sadly  astray;  he  has  formed  some  acquaintances  that 
are  of  no  advantage  to  him.  I  know  that  he  belongs  to  a 
spouting  club,  aud  am  aware  that  he  attends  upon  the  theatre 
very  frequently.  I  went  one  evening  to  the  club.  Several 
ladies  were  present.  When  I  entered,  I  found  Frank  in  close 
attendance  upon  a  very  lovely  young  lady,  whom  I  afterwards 
learned  was  Miss  Austin.  From  what  I  saw,  I  should  judge 
that  they  are  deeply  interested  in  each  other. 

"  The  room  was  fitted  up  for  private  theatricals,  and  several 
young  gentlemen  joined  in  the  performance;  but  none  with  so 
much  success  as  Frank.  They  were  all  in  stage  costume. 
Frank  took  a  difficult  part.  He  performed  admirably.  He 
has  uncommon  talent. 

"  The  company  applauded  enthusiastically,  and  I  saw  that 
the  young  man  was  greatly  exhilarated.  I  fear,  my  friend, 
that  he  is  in  a  dangerous  position,  and  thought  it  best  to  ac- 
quaint his  sister,  whose  influence  over  him  is  so  powerful." 

Edith  listened  with  a  downcast  countenance,  and  raising  her 
tearful  eyes,  she  thanked  Ralph,  saying  that  she  had  "  long 
feared  that  something  was  wrong,  and  it  was  better  to  know 
the  truth." 

"  Did  you  say  anything  to  him,  Mr.  Cameron  ?"  asked 
Edith. 

"  I  did,  but  he  repelled  me  impatiently,  and  said,  '  that  he 
was  old  enough  to  judge  for  himself.'  He  is  very  enthusiastic, 
and  what  he  undertakes  he  will  persevere  in.  He  has  no  taste 
for  business,  and  I  am  nearly  certain  will  never  pursue  the 
vocation  of  a  merchant." 


200  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  I  always  feared  the  consequence  of  father's  course,"  replied 
Edith  ;  "  for,  knowing  his  great  desire  for  a  professional  life,  I 
have  trembled,  lest  dissatisfaction  with  his  situation  should  lead 
him  to  some  desperate  step." 

"  You  will  be  cautious,  dear  Miss  Clifford,  how  you  approach 
him,  for  being  well  assured  that  his  course  will  grieve  his  family, 
and  not  being  wholly  satisfied  himself,  he  will  naturally  be 
restive  under  restraint;  nothing  but  kindness  can  ever  influence 
him." 

"  I  am  under  very  solemn  vows,  Mr.  Cameron,  never  to  for- 
sake him,  and,  by  God's  help,  I  never  will.  It  is  not  hard  to 
be  kind  to  Frank,  he  has  such  a  warm  and  generous  nature." 

"  Cast  down,  but  not  destroyed,"  Edith  committed  this  great 
care  also  to  him  who  cared  for  her  more  than  a  brother,  and 
knowing  the  precious  value  of  divine  sympathy,  she  "  went 
and  told  Jesus."  The  words  of  one  of  her  favorite  hymns  came 
to  her  memory  with  comforting  assurance : 

"  Did  ever  trouble  yet  befall, 
And  he  refuse  to  hear  thy  call? 
And  has  he  not  his  promise  passed, 
That  thou  slialt  overcome  at  last?" 

In  one  of  her  evening  walks  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  she 
thought  that  she  perceived  a  familiar  form  far  up  the  shore. 
It  looked  like  Frank,  but  she  was  not  sure.  He  was  pacing  up 
and  down  the  bank,  as  if  in  a  very  agitated  state.  When  she 
drew  near,  her  doubts  gave  way  to  certainty, — it  was  Frank. 
Hurrying  on,  she  found  him  seated  on  a  rock,  where  they  had 
often  sat  together,  with  his  face  covered  in  his  hands.  Quietly 
placing  herself  by  his  side,  she  drew  his  head  down  upon  her 
shoulder,  and  parting  the  masses  of  dark,  disordered  hair  from 
his  forehead,  she  imprinted  thereon  a  sister's  warm  kiss,  saying, 
"  Dear  Frank,  how  can  you  hide  your  troubles  from  me  ?  Who 
so  ready  to  sympathize  with  you  as  your  sister  ?" 

He  turned  his  face  around  suddenly  and  said,  "  Sister,  you 
ought  not  to  wish  to  know  my  troubles ;  I  fear  that  they  will 
break  your  heart.  Let  me  bear  them  alone,  Edith ;  they  are 


BANISHED.  201 

of  ray  own  making."  She  was  shocked  at  his  bloodshot  eyes 
and  wild  haggard  expression  of  countenance. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from,  Frank  ?"  inquired  his  sister. 

"  I  came  from  New  York  in  the  afternoon  boat,  and  thought 
that  perhaps  a  walk  upon  the  calm  river-shore  would  compose 
my  troubled  thoughts." 

"  Will  you  not  confide  in  me,  Frank?  It  would  relieve  you, 
and  be  infinitely  better  for  your  sister  than  suspense." 

"  O,  sister,  you  know  not  what  you  ask." 

"I  think  I  know  some  of    your  troubles,  Frank." 

"  I  cannot  endure  my  business  any  longer ;  such  a  dull, 
grovelling,  plodding  life  will  kill  me."  Kising  suddenly  from 
his  seat,  he  extended  his  arms  frantically,  while  his  flushed 
cheek  and  glowing  eye  betrayed  the  violence  of  his  emotions, 
and  said,  "Sister,  I  seek  for  fame.  I  have  talents,  and  I  am 
sure  of  success.  I  have  chosen  the  stage  for  my  profession.  I 
know  what  you  would  say,  but  I  need  not  associate  with  the 
lower  orders  of  the  calling ;  but,  as  a  star,  I  would  endeavor  to 
dignify  the  profession."  He  threw  himself  on  Edith's  shoulder, 
and  wept  hot  tears  of  long-suppressed  agony. 

Finding  that  his  sister  was  about  to  speak,  he  said,  "  Edith, 
you  need  not  persuade  me,  my  mind  is  made  up.  I  will  never 
be  a  muck-rake,  grovelling  after  money.  It  is  too  late  for  any 
other  profession  now ;  besides,  the  stage  is  my  first  choice." 

"  O,  brother  !  brother !  what  would  our  mother  say  ?  Her 
only  son.  her  darling  boy,  the  object  of  all  her  solicitude  and 
her  fervent  prayers,  devoting  his  life  to  the  calling  of  an 
actor." 

"  I  need  not  be  vicious,  Edith  ;  I  can  select  my  companions 
even  there.  I  am  encouraged  by  my  friends,  and  my  choice  is 
made." 

"  Who  are  your  friends,  Frank  ?" 

"  I  have  many  in  New  York ;  but,  Edith,  I  have  one  who 
will  cling  to  me,  though  all  others  should  forsake  me.  Eveleen, 
my  own  Eveleen,  cheers  me  on." 

"Oh,  Frank,  beware!  You  surely  have  not  tangled  the  fate 
of  that  sweet  young  girl  with  yours  ?" 


202  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  Sister,  how  could  I  help  it  ?  She  is  so  lovely,  so  unselfish 
her  heart  is  so  pure ;  and,  though  surrounded  by  every  earthly 
luxury,  Eveleen  Austin  loves  your  poor  brother  with  a  woman's 
.self-forgetting  affection." 

"  Frank,  I  fear  that  you  have  been  dishonorable." 

"  I  have  not,  sister.  I  have  been  allowed  by  her  parents  to 
accompany  her  everywhere.  They  have  seen  our  attachment, 
and,  although  nothing  definite  has  passed,  I  am  sure  that  they 
know  and  approve  our  love." 

"  But,  Frank,  do  you  think  that  they  would  commend  this 
step?"  His  eyes  fell  at  this  question,  for  the  same  thought  had 
given  him  much  uneasiness.  "  Are  you  committed  at  all  iu 
this  new  step  of  your  life  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear  sister,  I  have  entered  into  an  engagement  with 
a  New  York  manager,  and  am  to  make  my  first  appearance  on 
the  tenth  of  next  month." 

"  Does  our  father  know  it,  Frank  ?" 

"  No,  sister,"  replied  the  young  man,  "  but  I  wish  you  to  tell 
him  this  evening." 

"  Oh,  Frank,  how  can  you  crush  all  his  hopes?  I  fear  that 
you  will  break  his  heart." 

"  Why,  sister,  he  has  encouraged  my  fondness  for  the  stage, 
and  I  have  so  often  heard  him  express  his  admiration  of  certain 
performers,  not  only  as  such,  but  as  worthy  men,  that  I  could 
not  suppose  that  he  would  greatly  object  to  his  son's  following 
that  profession." 

Edith  looked  at  her  romantic  brother  with  pitying  love,  for, 
young  as  she  was,  she  knew  that  he  was  chasing  an  ignis 
fatuus,  and  laying  up  stores  of  misery  in  the  days  that  were  yet 
to  come. 

All  her  arguments  were  in  vain.  Remembering  her  promise 
to  her  mother,  she  said,  "  Under  all  circumstances,  Frank, 
remember,  that  in  your  sister  you  have  an  unfailing  friend. 
I  cannot  believe  that  this  infatuation  will  long  continue.  I 
cannot  think  that  our  mother's  prayers  will  remain  unan- 
swered." 

After  some  further  confidential  conversation,  they  joined  the 


BANISHED.  203 

family  circle,  but  both  with  feelings  of  deep  depression.  Edith, 
with  a  trembling  heart,  sought  an  interview  with  her  father; 
and  having  reached  the  library,  she  said,  "  Dear  father,  I  have 
sad  news  to  communicate." 

"What  is  it,  my  child?  Do  not  keep  me  long  in  suspense; 
does  it  concern  Frank  ?" 

"It  does,  father.  He  is  so  entirely  disgusted  with  his  busi- 
ness that  he  has  directed  me  to  tell  you  that  he  can  endure  the 
drudgery  no  longer.  He  has  resigned  his  situation  with 
Mr.  Austin." 

Turning  towards  Edith,  with  an  angry  countenance,  he  re- 
plied, "  And  what  does  he  propose  in  place  of  such  an  oppor- 
tunity for  advancement?" 

"  He  is  going  on  the  stage." 

Starting  to  his  feet,  he  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  extreme 
anger,  "What  do  you  say?  On  the  stage!  A  Clifford  and  a 
Ravenswood  a  common  actor !  It  cannot  be  thought  of." 

"He  seems  very  determined,  father.  He  has  some  very 
injudicious  friends,  who  urge  him  on,  applauding  his  talents, 
and  predicting  great  success." 

"He  is  under  age,  Edith,  and  I  will  forbid  his  appear- 
ance, under  penalty  of  the  legal  prosecution  of  any  of  the 
managers." 

"  Do  not  be  harsh,  dear  father ;  it  will  do  no  good,  it  will 
drive  him  headlong  to  ruin." 

"  I  will  give  him  all  my  views,  Edith,  and  if  he  perseveres, 
he  is  no  child  of  mine." 

Walking  up  and  down  the  floor  in  an  agony  of  mind,  while 
he  clenched  his  hands  over  his  head,  he  exclaimed,  "  Fool 
that  I  was !  could  I  not  have  seen  that  Frank  was  not  a  boy 
to  be  encouraged  in  his  love  of  the  theatre !  Go  send  him  to 
me,  Edith." 

She  advanced  once  more.  "  Father,  for  my  sake,  for  dear 
mother's  sake,  do  not  be  harsh  !"  and  leaving  the  room,  she 
sent  her  brother  to  the  library,  saying,  "  Be  respectful,  Frank ; 
you  will  have  a  dreadful  scene.  Do  not  forget  that  it  is 
our  father." 


204  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

When  the  young  man  entered,  Mr.  Clifford  pointed  silently 
to  a  seat  on  the  other  side  of  the  table  at  which  he  was  sit- 
ting. Not  trusting  himself  to  speak,  for  some  minutes  he  sat 
perfectly  quiet,  tapping  his  foot  quickly  on  the  floor;  at  last, 
with  suppressed  emotion,  he  said,  "Well  sir,  you  are  reward- 
ing your  father  in  a  remarkable  manner  for  all  his  care 
of  you  ;  an  honorable  profession  you  have  chosen!  A  Clif- 
ford !  a  Ravenswood !  and  an  orly  son,  herding  with  com- 
mon actors." 

Rising  suddenly  to  his  feet,  hia  anger  could  no  longer  be 
kept  in  check ;  the  veins  swelled  in  his  temples,  his  eyes 
flashed  fire,  and  crossing  the  room  rapidly  towards  the  young 
man,  with  clenched  fists,  he  said,  "  Do  you  know  that  such 
a  thing  was  never  heard  of?  You  will  be  the  first  to  dis- 
grace your  family ;  but  mark  my  words,  it  shall  not  be.  If 
you  are  such  a  fool  as  not  to  be  able  to  take  care  of  your 
own  interests,  I  will  do  it  for  you.  You  are  under  age,  and 
I  will  notify  every  stage  manager  in  New  York  to  beware  of 
the  course  which  they  pursue ;  they  dare  not  proceed  any  further." 

Frank  sat  in  silence  under  this  burst  of  passion,  but  nerv- 
ing himself  to  meet  the  storm,  he  replied,  "  Father,  I  have 
always  expressed  my  aversion  to  mercantile  pursuits.  I  have 
repeatedly  urged  my  desire  for  a  profession.  The  law  was  my 
choice;  that  you  have  denied  me.  I  have  discovered  that  I 
have  talents  for  the  stage,  and  believe  that,  if  I  choose,  I  can 
impart  dignity  even  to  that  profession.  I  need  not  associate 
with  the  common  herd.  There  have  been  many  in  England 
who  have  been  highly  respected,  and  why  should  it  not  be  so 
in  my  case  ?" 

With  an  averted  face,  Mr.  Clifford  listened  to  his  son,  then 
turning  round,  he  said,  with  a  sneer,  "  You'll  soon  find  out 
your  position  as  a  common  actor :  you  will  be  shunned  by  your 
former  associates,  and  will  sink  to  the  level  of  the  members  of 
your  profession.  But  it  shall  not  be.  While  I  have  any 
control  over  you,  it  shall  be  exercised ;  and  mark  my  words, 
Frank  Clifford, — if  you  persevere,  you  are  no  son  of  mine,  but 
an  exile  from  your  father's  house." 


BANISHED.  205 

"  Is  this  your  determination,  father  ?  Now,  hear  mine ;  I 
am  resolved  to  try  my  fortune.  I  am  seeking  for  fame,  and  I 
will  have  it.  I  do  not  wish  to  pain  you,  but  I  must  be  re- 
leased from  my  present  thraldom." 

"  Go,  then,  you  have  chosen  your  lot ;  not  one  cent  shall  you 
have  from  me.  O !  the  bitterness  of  the  ingratitude  of  a 
thankless  child." 

"  Father,  can  you  cast  me  off  without  one  word  of  kindness  ? 
"Will  you  not,  for  my  mother's  sake,  say  farewell  ?" 

The  workings  of  his  countenance  betrayed  the  feelings  which 
that  name  awakened,  and,  turning  round,  with  a  blanched 
cheek,  he  extended  his  hand,  and  said,  "  Farewell,  Frank,  you 
have  crushed  every  hope.  This  is  but  the  beginning  of  the 
misery  which  you  have  caused  me.  While  you  continue 
rebellious,  you  must  be  an  exile  ;  but  for  your  mother's  sake, 
farewell." 

For  a  moment  Frank  grasped  the  extended  hand,  then 
gazed  around  the  old  library  with  an  expression  of  despair, 
pressed  his  hands  wildly  upon  his  bursting  temples,  and,  with 
an  unsteady  step,  tottered  from  the  room.  Seeking  the  solitude 
of  his  own  room,  he  paced  the  floor,  in  deep  distress.  Edith, 
who  had  heard  the  library  door  close,  and  the  heavy  step  which 
travelled  back  and  forth  in  her  brother's  room,  quickly  followed 
him.  Knocking  at  the  door,  a  hollow  voice  from  within  said, 
"  Who  is  there  ?" 

"  'Tis  your  sister  Edith  ;  open  the  door,  dear  Frank." 

It  was  soon  unclosed,  and  the  first  glance  at  her  brother's 
countenance  disclosed  the  result  of  that  interview.  She 
opened  her  arms  to  receive  her  brother,  who,  bowing  his  head 
upon  her  shoulder,  was  completely  unmanned,  as  he  said, 
"  Nothing  is  left  to  me  but  Eveleen  and  you,  my  sister,  my 
faithful  Edith.  I  am  an  exile  from  my  father's  house.  I  take 
my  departure  at  once.  I  cannot  sleep  under  this  roof  another 
night ;  it  would  suffocate  me ;  but,  ere  I  go,  I  must  see  Miss 
Arnold  and  my  sisters." 

In  a  few  minutes  Edith  acquainted  them  with  the  sad  in- 
telligence. They  all  entered  his  room  in  silent  consterna- 


206  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

tion.  All  the  latent  tenderness  in  the  heart  of  Madge  Clif- 
ford was  awakened.  "Oh,  Brother  Frank,  you  will  not  leave 
us;  you  cannot  break  our  hearts.  Think,  think  of  our  dear 
mother!  what  would  she  say?"  Blanche  threw  herself,  Avith  a 
burst  of  tender  weeping,  into  his  arms ;  and  Adele,  the 
merry,  sportive  companion  of  all  his  mischievous  gambols,  in 
a  transport  of  grief,  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Frank !  how  can  you 
live  without  your  sisters?  How  can  you  dare  our  father's 
displeasure?" 

"Do  not  kill  me,  dear  girls.  I  need  all  the  fortitude  which 
I  can  summon,  to  sustain  me,  for  my  mind  is  made  up.  Fare- 
well, farewell !"  and  he  kissed  each  dear  sister  again  and 
again. 

"Shall  we  never  see  you,  dear  Frank?  Will  you  never 
come  here  any  more?"  sobbed  Blanche. 

"  I  am  banished  from  my  father's  house,  and  cannot  cross 
the  threshold  ever  again. 

A  burst  of  passionate  weeping  followed  the  last  adieu. 
Turning  to  Miss  Arnold,  he  said,  "  Farewell,  my  friend,  my 
mother's  friend  ;  you  will  not  forget  the  Frank  of  younger 
days." 

"  I  shall  not  forget  you,  Frank.  I  shall  look  for  your  re- 
turn ;  it  will  not  be  long.  A  prayer-hearing  God  will  remem- 
ber the  supplications  of  your  sainted  mother." 

"Now,  Edith,  take  me  to  Lilly  and  Emily;  let  me  look  at 
them  once  more;"  and  crossing  the  entry,  they  entered  the 
room  of  the  slumbering  children.  Stooping  over,  he  kissed 
each  sleeping  child,  and,  with  a  trembling  step,  said,  "Now  to 
mother's  room." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  entered,  and  locked  the  door. 
Frank  stood  a  moment,  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  surveying 
each  familiar  object,  especially  the  sweet  miniature  which  hung 
by  the  side  of  her  dressing-table  ;  then  walking  reverently  up 
to  the  little  table  where  her  devotional  books  were  kept,  he 
found  several  there  still;  her  work-box,  and  the  little  vase 
which  contained  her  flowers,  stood  in  their  accustomed  place. 
Edith  stood  by  his  side,  and  whispered,  "  This  is  the  very  spot 


BANISHED.  207 

where  she  used  always  to  pray ;  let  us  bow  down,  once  moie, 
together." 

Kneeling  before  the  little  table,  she  threw  her  arm  around 
her  brother,  and  in  earnest,  fervent  supplication,  prayed  for  the 
prodigal  son,  about  to  leave  his  father's  house.  The  young 
man  bowed  down,  in  speechless  emotion,  and  Edith  felt,  as  she 
arose  from  that  posture,  that  though  clouds  and  darkness  were 
round  about  her  path,  the  sun  was  still  shining  behind  these 
vapors,  and  would  yet  appear,  through  the  rending  heavens,  to 
light  her  path  once  more. 

Frank  next  descended  to  the  kitchen,  and  said,  "  Good-bye, 
dear  nurse ;  I  shall  not  see  you  any  more,  but  I  must  thunk 
you  for  your  kiuduess  to  your  little  boy." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Master  Frank  ?  Where  are  you 
going?" 

"  Going  forever,  nurse.     Sister  Edith  will  tell  you  why." 

The  faithful  old  creature,  burying  her  face  in  her  clean  white 
apron,  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  as  she  said,  "  Wherever  you 
go,  do  not  forget  your  mother's  God.  Oh,  may  his  blessing  rest 
upon  you,  and  bring  you  back  again  to  your  father's  house." 

"  Where  is  Uncle  Peter?"  asked  Frank. 

"  He  is  out  in  the  stable,"  answered  the  old  woman. 

Walking  out  alone,  Frank  called  to  the  old  man,  "  I  have 
been  looking  for  you,  Uncle  Peter,  to  bid  you  good-bye.  I  ara 
banished  from  my  father's  house,  forever,  and  I  must  say  fare- 
well to  my  faithful  old  friend." 

"Oh,  Massa  Frank!  what  do  you  mean?  what  have  you 
done?  You  will  break  you  sister's  heart  if  you  have  gone 
astray." 

"  I  will  try  to  do  right,  Uncle  Peter,  though  I  cannot  com- 
ply with  all  my  father's  wishes.  I  am  going  out  into  the  'wide, 
wide  world,'  all  alone,  and  I  knoAV  that  you  will  pray  for  your 
boy.  I  am  going  to  be  something  great,  Uncle  Peter,  but  I 
cannot  tell  you  all  now.  Be  kind  to  my  father ;  take  good 
care  of  my  dear  sisters  ;  don't  forget  Lady  Jane.,  Carlos  I 
shall  take  with  me ;  it  is  all  that  I  have  left  of  dear  old 
Raveiiswood." 


208  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  0,  Massa  Frank,  it  is  better  to  be  good  than  to  be  great. 
Don't  follow  anything  that  you  can't  ask  the  good  Heavenly 
Father  to  bless." 

"Now,  Uncle  Peter,  saddle  one  of  your  best  horses,  and 
bring  him  round  to  the  front ;  I  must  be  off  to-night." 

The  old  servant  seized  his  hand,  and  kissing  it  affectionately, 
showered  a  flood  of  tears  upon  it,  and  Frank  returned  once 
more  to  the  house. 

"  One  more  request,  dear  Edith :  is  there  no  likeness  of  my 
mother  that  can  be  spared  ?" 

"O  yes,  dear  brother,  you  can  have  mine;  it  has  also  some 
of  her  hair  ;  I  can  easily  get  another  from  some  that  are  in  the 
house ;"  and  going  to  her  room,  she  brought  a  perfect  likeness 
of  their  beloved  parent  and  placed  it  in  his  hand.  He  received 
it  with  reverence,  and  Edith's  hopes  were  stronger  than  her 
fears,  when  she  witnessed  the  deep  emotion  with  which  he 
gazed  upon  his  mother's  picture.  In  a  short  time  his  trunks 
were  packed,  ready  to  send  next  day.  The  horse  being  at  the 
door,  he  embraced  silently  each  dear  member  of  the  family  who 
stood  in  the  hall,  and  mounting  his  horse,  slowly  pursued  his 
way  down  the  dark  avenue.  It  was  a  cold  and  cheerless  night. 
The  wind  whistled  shrilly  around  the  elms  of  Kavenswood; 
the  winter  moon  struggled  through  masses  of  dark  clouds ;  and 
the  scene  without  was  in  gloomy  harmony  with  the  heart  of 
Frank  Clifford. 

Reining  his  horse  for  a  few  minutes,  he  sat  in  the  saddle 
bidding  a  sad  farewell  to  the  home  of  his  ancestors.  He 
thought  of  the  days  of  childhood,  when  he  sported  so  merrily 
among  the  green  trees  of  his  early  home.  He  glanced  towards 
the  Hudson,  and  the  few  scattered  moonbeams  that  played 
fitfully  upon  its  cold  surface,  brought  back  in  mournful  eehoes 
the  joyful  tones  of  voices  which  he  might  never  hear  again,  and 
which  had  so  merrily  carolled  their  sweet  melodies  in  their 
boat  excursions  on  the  beautiful  river.  Pie  thought  of  the 
home-circle  within  those  honored  walls.  He  recalled  the  look, 
the  voice,  the  teachings  of  his  mother.  Her  dying  words 
seemed  repeated  once  more,  in  tones  of  deeper  sadness.  The 


BANISHED.  209 

beloved  school-room,  and  the  kind  and  gifted  governess  of  his 
early  days ;  the  sweet  sisters,  whom  he  had  so  loved  to  tease ; 
Kdith,  whom  he  almost  venerated  ;  dear  little  blind  Lilly,  who 
to  tenderly  loved  "  Brother  Frank  ;"  little  prattling  Emily  ; 
the  good  old  servants,  his  horse,  his  dog,  all  the  haunts  of  his 
early  days,  came  over  his  spirit  with  overwhelming  tenderness. 
These  were  now  as  dreams  of  the  past.  While  he  gazed,  the 
cold  moon  hid  herself  behind  the  dark  clouds,  enveloping  the 
landscape  in  a  thick  veil  of  darkness.  A  deeper  gloom  over- 
spread his  heart,  and  giving  a  slight  touch  of  the  whip  to  his 
horse,  in  a  very  few  minutes  he  had  left  the  charmed  circle  of 
his  home  forever. 

Now,  thoughts  of  the  future  stirred  up  the  very  depths  of 
his  heart,  but  although  he  saw  before  him  many  high  hills  to 
climb,  and  troubled  streams  to  buffet,  still  the  sanguine  hopes 
of  youth  prevailed ;  and  in  the  distance  he  saw  the  temple  of 
fame,  towards  which  he  was  rushing  impetuously,  with  hot 
speed,  regardless  of  the  difficulties  of  the  way. 

A  cloud  had  fallen  upon  the  family  hearth  at  Ravenswood ; 
for  Frank's  warm,  impulsive  heart  had  endeared  him  tenderly 
to  every  member  of  the  household ;  and  then  he  was  an  only 
brother,  and  none  could  fill  the  vacancy  which  he  had  left. 

From  a  lonely  chamber,  a  stricken,  disappointed  heart  had 
watched  the  departure  of  his  son  from  the  parental  roof.  He 
had  seen  him  mount  his  horse  which  conveyed  him  from  his 
home,  and  when  he  reined  his  steed  to  take  a  last  farewell,  the 
yearning  of  the  father's  heart  almost  impelled  him  to  raise  the 
window,  and  to  utter  the  call  of  his  heart,  "  Frank,  my  son,  my 
only  son,  come  back  !"  but  pride  gained  the  mastery,  and  turn- 
ing resolutely  from  the  window,  all  night  long  he  paced  the 
gloomy  chamber,  bewailing  his  son's  rebellion.  On  the  next 
day,  he  was  unable  to  leave  his  room ;  and  when  he  did,  the 
name  of  Frank  Clifford  was  a  forbidden  sound  in  the  halls  of 
Ravenswood. 

14 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

DISAPPOINTED    HOPES. 

HE  likeness  of  Frank  was  still  in  Edith's  room, 
smiling  and  joyous,  as  in  days  of  yore,  but  his 
flute,  with  which  he  used  so  often  to  accompany 
his   sisters,    was   silent ;    his    place   vacant   at   the 
family  table ;  and  when  his  trunks  were  seen  leaving 
the  house,  next  day,  a  fresh  burst  of  weeping  fol- 
lowed the  last  mementoes  of  a  beloved  brother. 

"  Though  rough  and  thorny  be  the  road, 
It  leads  thee  home  apace  to  God ; 
Then  count  thy  present  trjnls  small, 
For  heaven  will  make  amends  for  all," 

So  thought  Edith,  as  she  stood,  next  morning,  looking  at 
the  wagon  which  removed  her  brother's  property  from  his 
home.  "  I  have  prayed  to  be  made  holy,"  thought  she  ;  "  all 
the  trials  which  befall  me  are  under  the  direction  of  a  Heavenly 
Father.  This  is  the  way  in  which  I  am  to  be  taught  patience. 
'Tribulation  worketh  patience;  and  patience  experience;  and 
experience,  hope ;  and  hope  maketh  not  ashamed.'  '  Even  so, 
Father,  for  so  it  seemed  good  in  thy  sight.' 

'"Trials  must  and  will  befall; 

But,  with  humble  faith,  to  see 
Love  inscribed  upon  them  all, — 
This  is  happiness  to  me.'  " 

Repeating  these  words,  in  a  low  tone,  she  felt  a  comfort  of 
210 


DISAPPOINTED   HOPES.  211 

the  sweet  promise  of  the  gospel,  and  committing  her  dear  father 
and  brother  wholly  to  God,  she  could  pursue  her  path  of  duty 
with  serene  and  cheerful  trust  in  the  unseen  hand. 

She  argued  thus.  "  All  the  members  of  this  dear  household 
have  been  the  subject  of  earnest,  believing  prayer,  from  the 
first  day  of  their  birth.  God  is  true.  He  hath  promised  to 
answer  faithful  prayer.  '  What  things  soever  ye  desire,  when 
ye  pray,  believe  that  ye  receive  them,  and  ye  shall  have  them.' 
How  certain  are  the  Divine  promises !  God  does  not  only  say, 
we  shall  have  in  the  future,  but  we  have  them  now,"  thought 
Edith.  "  Are  not  these  prayers  in  accordance  with  the  will  of 
God  ?  Then  these  promises  are  mine.  God  may  withhold  the 
manifestation  of  their  fulfilment,  to  try  my  faith;  but  still  I 
1  ave  the  blessed  assurance,  I  believe  it, — Frank  will  be  a  Chris- 
tian yet."  With  a  smile  upon  her  face,  she  descended  to  the 
family  circle,  and  endeavored  to  cheer  the  sad  spirits  around 
the  domestic  hearth. 

As  soon  as  her  father  was  able,  she  saw  him  depart  for  New 
York,  with  a  very  stern  expression  of  countenance.  "I  may 
not  be  at  home  for  several  days,  Edith,"  said  he,  "  but  I  will 
not  write  to  you ;  do  not  be  uneasy."  With  these  words  he 
sadly  took  leave  of  his  family. 

When  Frank  reached  the  metropolis,  he  went  immediately 
to  Mr.  Austin,  and  acquainted  him  with  his  decision.  He  was 
thunderstruck  at  the  surprise  which  was  manifested. 

"  Are  you  aware,  my  young  friend,  of  all  the  difficulties  in 
your  way  ?"  asked  Mr.  Austin. 

"  I  suppose,  sir,  that  every  profession  has  its  trials  at  the 
outset,  but  I  feel  strong  enough  to  overcome  them  all." 

"There  is  another  serious  matter,  Frank,"  answered  Mr. 
Austin.  "  I  suppose  that  you  are  fully  aware  that  you  will  lose 
caste  in  good  society  if  you  become  a  tragedian." 

"  I  cannot  see  why,  my  dear  sir.  If  I  lead  a  moral,  upright 
life,  performing  all  the  duties  of  a  good  citizen,  I  think  I  am  as 
well  entitled  to  confidence  and  respect  as  if  I  were  a  mer- 
chant." 

"  You  will  not  find  it  so ;  there  is  an  odium  attached  to  the 


212  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

name  of  an  actor,  for,  generally  speaking,  they  are  a  low, 
worthless  class,  wholly  unsuitable,  as  associates,  for  Frank  Clif- 
ford." 

"  If  I  prove  a  successful  aspirant,  and  maintain  a  high  char- 
acter for  purity  and  virtue,  may  I  not  elevate  the  class?" 
answered  the  sanguine  youth. 

"  These  are  very  pretty  pictures,  Frank,  but  not  one  will  be 
realized.  If  you  are  successful,  you  will  have  what  you  are 
seeking, — fame;  but  the  very  persons  that  applaud  you  in 
public  will  close  their  drawing-rooms  against  Frank  Clifford,  the 
actor.  Mark  my  words:  even  I,  much  as  I  esteem  you,  could  not 
think  of  seeing  you,  upon  the  same  terms,  in  my  family.  You 
will  be  welcome  at  my  counting-room,  but,  as  an  associate  for  my 
daughters,  I  never  could  brave  public  opinion  enough  for  that, 
nor  could  I  expose  them  to  the  risk  of  intimacy  with  a  young 
and  flattered  tragedien." 

During  this  conversation  Frank's  countenance  fell,  for  he 
had  fully  calculated  upon  Mr.  Austin's  sympathy.  He  knew 
of  his  intimacy  with  Forrest,  but  when  he  recalled  the  terms 
upon  which  they  associated,  he  remembered  that  he  never 
mingled  with  the  female  members  of  the  family,  and  was  only 
invited  to  the  house  to  the  gentlemen's  parties. 

His  heart  sank  within  him  at  the  prospect  of  separation 
from  Eveleen,  but  even  that  hope  he  could  resign  for  the  pre- 
sent, looking  to  the  bright  future  which  he  pictured,  when,  as 
the  successful  tragedian,  he  might  offer  her  a  home  worthy  of 
her  acceptance. 

"When  he  met  the  young  girl,  in  the  evening,  she  soon  per- 
ceived that  a  deep  shadow  clouded  his  usually  sunny  brow, 
and  seating  herself  at  the  piano,  she  sought  to  draw  him 
out  of  his  moody  silence  by  the  sweet  strains  of  her  lovely 
voice. 

She  chose  some  of  her  most  touching  melodies,  which  they 
had  often  enjoyed  together.  It  had  been  his  custom  to  stand 
by  her  side,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  her  music,  but  now, 
she  found  that  he  sat  in  a  distant  corner  of  the  room,  and 
when  she  turned  to  look  at  him,  she  perceived  that  he  was  sit- 


DISAPPOINTED   HOPES.  213 

ting  with  his  face  covered  in  his  hands  Rising  from  the  piano, 
she  advanced,  with  a  subdued  and  gentle  step,  towards  the 
young  man,  and  said,  "  What  ails  you,  Mr.  Clifford  ?  You 
are  in  trouble." 

"Come  with  me,  Miss  Austin,  to  the  conservatory;"  and 
he  led  the  way  to  a  small  room,  at  the  end  of  the  range  of 
parlors.  Seating  himself  by  Eveleen,  he  said,  "  I  have  much 
to  tell  you  ;  this  is  probably  our  last  interview,  and  you  must 
know  all.  I  have  acquainted  my  father  with  my  decision : 
he  has  disowned  me ;  I  am  banished  from  the  paternal  roof. 
Edith,  my  sister,  is  faithful  and  devoted ;  she  will  never  for- 
sake me.  I  have  also  told  your  father ;  he  discourages  me 
entirely,  and  says,  that 'although  I  may  visit  him  at  his  count- 
ing-room, an  actor  cannot  be  a  proper  associate  for  his  daugh- 
ters. I  had  not  calculated  upon  this.  Now,  I  have  nothing 
left ;  no  friend  but  Edith  and  my  sisters.  Eveleen,  our  sweet 
dream  is  over ;  we  must  part." 

While  Frank  was  speaking,  lower  and  lower  drooped  the 
young  girl's  head,  until,  bowed  upon  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  she 
wept  convulsively  and  long. 

"  Do  you  think,  Frank,  that  I,  your  own  Eveleen,  will  for- 
sake you  in  the  day  of  your  adversity  ?"  Raising  her  head, 
and  proudly  throwing  back  the  luxuriant  ringlets  which  shaded 
her  lovely  face,  an  expression  of  joy  almost  beamed  in  her 
expressive  eyes,  as  she  continued,  "I  am  proud  of  you,  Frank. 
I  shall  see  the  day  when  your  name  will  stand  enrolled  in  the 
annals  of  fame,  and  do  you  think  that,  for  a  mere  prejudice,  I 
shall  forsake  you  ?  No,  no  ;  you  do  not  know  your  Eveleen  f 
if  you  can  imagine  for  one  moment  that  aught  but  death  can 
part  thee  and  me ;  that  is,  Frank,  so  long  as  you  maintain  a 
character  for  purity,  integrity,  and  moral  worth.  Cast  off  by 
all  but  thee,  and  only  thee,  to  bear  the  burden  of  life,  I  ask 
no  higher  destiny." 

"  Oh,  Eveleen  !  you  wring  my  heart ;  such  devotion,  such 
noble  forgetfulness  of  self,  is  not  for  me.  I  cannot,  I  dare  not 
accept  the  precious  sacrifice ;  I  should  despise  myself  if  I 
did." 


214  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Frank  ?"  asked  the  young  girl. 

"  I  mean.  Eveleen,  that  I  must  not  seek  your  dear  society. 
If  I  cannot  openly  visit  you  at  your  father's  house,  it  must 
not  be  clandestinely ;  we  must  wait  for  brighter  days." 

"And  do  you  really  mean  to  leave  me  all  alone?  And  are 
you  going  to  meet  the  world,  and  endure  all  the  trials  of  your 
lot,  without  an  earthly  comforter?" 

"  Oh,  Eveleen !  Eveleen !  do  not  tempt  me  any  farther ;  I 
am  but  human." 

The  romantic  devotion  of  the  sweet  young  girl  almost  over- 
powered the  better  judgment  of  Frank  Clifford ;  but  so  far,  he 
remained  proof  against  her  tender  expostulations.  Under  the 
influence  of  a  religious  education,  Avhat  might  this  young  girl 
have  been  ?  But  here  we  behold  her  guided  by  false  views. 
Instead  of  using  her  power  to  restrain  her  friend  from  paths  of 
folly  and  irreligion,  actually  encouraging  him  to  persevere,  and 
holding  out  the  sweet  reward  of  her  love  at  last.  Woe  to  the 
mother  who  could  sow  such  seeds ! 

"  They  may  forbid  your  visits,  Frank ;  they  may  shut  me 
up  for  fear  that  we  may  meet,  but  they  will  never  change  my 
heart,  or  wring  from  me  a  renunciation  of  my  dearest  earthly 
hopes." 

"I  shall  see  you  again,  Eveleen,  for  it  may  be  some  weeks 
ere  all  is  arranged  ;  until  I  am  a  banished  man,  I  shall  see  you 
as  often  as  I  can." 

The  arrival  of  company  in  the  front  parlor  warned  them 
to  leave  their  retirement;  but  as  Eveleen  arose,  some  sweet 
blossoms  from  the  conservatory  fell  from  her  hair,  and  Frank 
stooping,  picked  them  up,  and  pressing  them  to  his  lips, 
placed  them  safely  in  the  button-hole  of  his  coat,  while 
Eveleen's  soft  eyes  danced  with  delight  at  this  little  act  of 
tenderness. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Clifford  was  busily  engaged  in  his  mission 
to  New  York.  Going  round  to  all  the  public  places,  he  tore 
down  every  placard  which  announced  his  son's  debut ;  then 
calling  on  the  managers  of  all  the  theatres,  he  warned  them, 
on  the  penalty  of  prosecution,  not  to  engage  his  son's  services 


DISAPPOINTED    HOPES.  215 

while  a  minor;  consequently,  Frank  was  disappointed.  But, 
determined  not  to  be  defeated,  he  made  preparations  to  join  a 
strolling  company  that  were  going  into  a  country  town  in  the 
interior  of  Pennsylvania. 

On  the  night  before  his  departure,  lie  called  at  Mr.  Austin's, 
and  was  kindly  received  :  as,  knowing  of  Mr.  Clifford's  reso- 
lute course,  Mr.  Austin  supposed  that  all  was  at  an  end.  But 
he  had  miscalculated  the  strength  of  Frank's  character.  Ere 
leaving  for  the  evening,  he  contrived  to  lead  Eveleen  into  the 
small  room,  and  sitting  out  of  sight  of  her  family,  he  commu- 
nicated the  news  of  his  departure. 

She  could  with  difficulty  conceal  her  emotion.  A  few 
hurried  words  of  farewell,  a  first  respectful  kiss,  imprinted 
frantically  upon  her  forehead,  and  Frank  was  gone.  Plead- 
ing headache,  Eveleen  rushed  to  her  room,  and  there  opened 
the  flood-gates  of  her  grief.  Opening  her  bureau-drawer,  she 
took  out  the  dear  picture  of  the  one  she  loved,  and  pressing  it 
to  her  lips,  gazed  long  upon  its  speaking  features.  From  that 
evening  she  drooped ;  her  interest  in  all  her  usual  pursuits 
declined  visibly;  her  eye  lost  its  brilliancy,  her  cheek  its 
bloom,  her  step  its  lightness.  Her  family  were  distressed  at 
the  change,  for  she  was  a  darling  idol  at  home.  Her  mother, 
who  had  watched  her  carefully,  guessed  her  secret,  and  pitied 
her  infatuation.  Mr.  Austin  was  not  so  sharp-sighted. 

After  Frank  had  been  absent  some  months,  Mr.  Austin, 
seated  at  the  breakfast-table  one  morning,  picked  up  one  of 
the  morning  papers,  and  glancing  hastily  over  it,  said,  "  What 
have  we  here?  The  first  appearance  of  a  young  man,  of  high 
family  connections,  at  the  Broadway  Theatre,  in  the  character 
of  Hamlet.  Known  to  a  large  circle  in  New  York,  it  will 
afford  his  friends  much  pleasure  to  hear  that  Mr.  Clifford 
makes  his  debut  on  Thursday  evening.  We  predict  for  him  a 
brilliant  course." 

Mrs.  Austin  stole  a  glance  at  Eveleen.  First  flushing  crim- 
son, then  ashy  pale,  she  observed  her  falling,  and  crossed  the 
room  just  in  time  to  receive  her  fainting  form  in  her  arms. 
Laying  her  gently  on  a  sofa,  the  usual  restoratives  were  ap- 


216  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

plied,  without  success,  for  a  long  time ;  at  length,  she  languidly 
opened  her  eyes,  and  said,  "  Take  me,  mother,  to  my  own  room, 
and  leave  me  there ;  I  shall  soon  be  better." 

Sadly  the  mother  saw  her  drooping  flower  carried  by  her 
father  up-stairs,  her  fair  head  leaning  over  his  shoulder,  and 
her  luxuriant  hair  falling  in  long  ringlets  over  her  slender 
figure.  When  she  was  laid  upon  the  bed,  Mrs.  Austin  locked 
the  door,  and,  with  a  mother's  tenderness,  seated  herself  by 
her  side. 

"  Don't  stay,  mother ;  if  I  could  sleep  awhile  I  should  soon 
feel  better." 

"  No,  my  dear ;  I  shall  not  leave  you,  Eveleen.  Look  at 
your  mother,  and  tell  me,  dearest,  is  there  not  some  mental 
anguish  preying  upon  you  ?" 

Eveleen  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and  moaned  piteously, 
"  Mother,  I  can  bear  it ;  don't  ask  me  such  a  question." 

"  Eveleen,  I  know  your  secret ;  you  have  long  loved  Frank 
Clifford.  Ever  since  he  left  us  you  have  been  pining,  and  I 
cannot  see  my  child  fading  so  hopelessly." 

Eveleen,  turning  suddenly  around,  looked  at  her  mother's 
face,  and  seeing  nothing  there  but  pitying  love,  threw  herself 
upon  her  bosom,  and  murmured,  "  Mother,  dear  mother,  you 
•will  not  despise  me  for  loving  him,  will  you?  Oh,  do  not 
blame  him  ;  we  are  neither  of  us  to  blame,  but  he  least.  How 
could  it  be  otherwise?  How  could  we  be  thrown  so  much 
together,  and  not  learn  to  love?  But,  mother,  we  are  under  no 
engagement;  we  only  love  each  other,  that  is  all,  and  hope- 
lessly, dear  mother.  Frank  will  not  see  me  clandestinely. 
He  still  hopes  for  better  days.  He  hopes  that  when  his  fame 
is  established  you  may  not  scorn  him  always." 

The  mother's  heart  was  overpowered  by  this  touching  appeal, 
but  she  replied,  "  Eveleen,  try  to  banish  his  image  from  your 
heart ;  your  father  will  never  listen  to  such  a  thing,  so  long  as* 
he  is  on  the  stage." 

"  I  know  it,  dear  mother,  but  I  cannot  cease  to  love  him 
He  is  not  a  common  young  man ;  he  has  no  vices,  and  I  don't 
see  why  people  should  despise  his  profession." 


DISAPPOINTED   HOPES.  217 

Seeing  the  excited  state  of  the  young  girl,  her  mother  said 
no  more  at  present,  but  inwardly  resolved  that  nothing  should 
induce  her  to  sacrifice  her  child  to  a  mere  stage  performer, 
though  he  were  one  of  the  most  brilliant  stars. 

When  the  father  was  acquainted  with  the  facts,  he  angrily 
reproached  Frank  for  his  abuse  of  their  hospitality,  and 
mourned  bitterly  over  the  ruin  of  his  daughter's  happiness. 
Lavishing  upon  Eveleen  every  indulgence,  he  hoped,  by  re- 
doubled kindness,  to  banish  the  remembrance  of  Frank  Clif- 
ford ;  but  he  had  not  measured  the  depth  of  a  woman's  love  if 
he  thought  that  toys  could  efface  memories  lasting  as  life. 
Eveleen,  knowing  Mr.  Clifford's  resolute  course,  wondered  how 
Frank  could  now  appear  upon  the  New  York  boards.  The 
truth  was,  that  finding  he  had  joined  a  company  of  strolling 
pluyers,  he  had  left  him  to  his  fate. 

Curious  to  know  how  Frank  would  be  received,  Mr.  Austin 
went  among  the  crowd  to  witness  his  first  appearance.  It  was 
pronounced  by  all  the  critics  to  be  a  great  success  for  one  so 
yuung,  although  many  feared  that  his  voice  had  not  sufficient 
power  for  strong  passions. 

Eveleen  watched  the  papers  eagerly,  and  read  in  her  own 
room,  with  a  burning  cheek  and  glistening  eye,  the  accounts  of 
lii<  success.  She  longed  to  see  him  on  his  next  appearance, 
and  wondered  how  she  could  bring  about  her  earnest  desire. 
Not  accustomed  to  very  rigid  ideas  of  principle,  she  thought 
over  the  matter,  and  was  busy  in  planning  how  she  could  ac- 
complish her  end. 

She  had  some  intimate  friends  living  not  far  from  her  who 
frequented  the  theatre ;  she  was  nearly  certain  that  they  would 
go  to  see  Frank.  Asking  permission  to  spend  the  day  with 
them,  her  mother  was  pleased  to  see  her  go  out.  To  her  great 
joy,  she  found  that  the  family  were  all  going,  and  never 
having  been  denied  these  amusements,  she  made  one  of  the 
party. 

It  may  be  well  imagined  with  what  eager  tumultuous  delight 
she  witnessed  his  second  performance  of  Hamlet.  She  rejoiced 
in  his  success.  The  plaudits  of  the  house  awoke  deep  echoes 


218  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

of  joy  iu  her  young  heart.  Their  box  was  near  the  stage 
She  had  brought  a  bouquet,  which  she  determined,  if  possible, 
to  throw  upon  the  stage.  At  the  close  of  the  second  act,  he 
passed  near  her  box.  Raising  his  eyes  suddenly,  he  recognized 
Eveleen ;  a  flush  of  joy  passed  over  his  features.  The 
bouquet  was  quickly  thrown,  and  Eveleen  was  made  happy  for 
that  evening  by  seeing  the  quickness  with  which  he  caught  the 
flowers,  and  sent  back  a  bright  smile  as  he  hastily  kissed  his 
hand  to  the  young  girl,  receiving  the  same  sweet  token  of 
recognition  in  return.  On  entering  his  room,  he  found  some- 
thing tied  around  the  bouquet.  Unwinding  the  string,  a  strip 
of  paper  fell  out,  on  which  was  written,  "From  Eveleen, 
unchanged." 

The  pure  devotion  of  the  young  girl  touched  his  heart,  but 
his  principles  were  yet  too  upright  to  seek  her  society.  Hope 
painted  a  picture  in  the  future,  when  sweet  Eveleen  Austin 
should  be  the  partner  of  all  his  success  and  prosperity.  Many 
•were  deeply  interested  in  the  young  man,  and,  true  to  their 
views  of  Christian  duty,  sought  to  win  him  back  to  paths  of 
respectability  and  honor.  One  morning,  a  message  came  up  to 
his  room  that  a  gentleman  wished  to  see  him,  and  descending, 
he  found  his  good  pastor,  Mr.  Berkely,  in  the  parlor. 

Advancing,  he  kindly  took  the  young  man's  hand,  and  said, 
"  Dear  Frank,  I  cannot  see  you  departing  so  far  from  the 
teachings  of  your  early  days,  without  making  an  effort  to 
reclaim  you.  I  cannot  tell  you  with  what  pain  I  have  heard 
the  intelligence,  that  Mrs.  Clifford's  only  and  cherished  son  had 
chosen  such  a  lot  as  yours." 

Frank  listened  attentively,  bu|  replied,  "  Mr.  Berkely,  I  do 
not  see  that  it  follows,  necessarily,  that  I  must  be  less  upright 
and  moral,  because  I  have  chosen  the  stage." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  think  so  now,"  replied  the  pastor; 
"  but  remember,  that  '  evil  communications  corrupt  good  man- 
ners/ and  you  cannot  associate  with  the  vile,  as  you  will  be 
compelled  to,  and  not  be  injured:  besides,  my  son,  nothing 
ought  to  be  pursued  on  which  you  cannot  ask  God's  blessing ; 
and  you  will  not  pretend  to  say  that  you  can  bend  your  knee, 


DISAPPOINTED    HOPES.  219 

and  ask  that  blessing,  before  you  go  to  your  nightly  business ; 
you  cannot  dream  that  the  glory  of  God  is  promoted  thereby." 

Frank  listened  seriously,  but  his  mind  was  still  averse  to 
this  mode  of  reasoning ;  inclination  held  the  reins  and  guided 
his  footsteps. 

"  Will  you,  my  son,  recall,  for  one  moment,  the  circumstances 
of  your  mother's  death-bed  ?  Do  you  recollect  how  she  charged 
me  to  look  after  her  children,  and  counsel  them  when  they 
were  led  astray  ?" 

A  tear  glistened  in  his  eye,  as  he  listened  to  this  appeal,  but 
he  replied,  "  I  remember  it  all,  dear  sir ;  I  never  can  forget  my 
mother's  teaching :  that,  I  think,  will  be  a  talisman,  even  in 
this  calling,  to  keep  me  free  from  moral  taint." 

"  Then,  do  you  not  feel  it  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  under  a 
father's  frown  ?  You  know  not  what  a  blow  you  have  inflicted. 
Your  father  is  a  changed  man :  a  whitened  head,  a  faltering 
step,  a  dimmed  eye,  and  a  benumbed  intellect,  all  testify  what 
he  has  suffered  ;  then,  cut  off,  as  you  are,  from  your  father's 
house,  your  sisters'  hearts  are  bleeding  at  the  estrangement. 
Can  I  not  persuade  you  to  return  ?" 

"  Not  now,  my  friend.  My  prospects,  so  far,  are  bright.  I 
wish  to  convince  you  all  that  an  actor  can  be  a  good  man  and 
an  honor  to  his  profession." 

Mr.  Berkely,  seeing  that  further  remonstrance  was  in  vain, 
sorrowfully  took  his  leave,  saying,  "  Should  dark  days  come, 
my  son,  remember  your  mother's  friend,  your  early  pastor. 
Come  to  me,  freely.  I  expect  you,  Frank,  for  daily  you  are 
borne  upon  my  heart  before  a  throne  of  grace." 

The  door  closed  upon  the  faithful  shepherd,  and  Frank  shut 
himself  in  his  room,  thinking  deeply  upon  the  pastor's  words. 
The  truth  was,  that  he  could  not  forget,  wholly,  the  instructions 
of  his  early  days.  His  mother's  nursery-hymns  and  prayers, 
her  Sabbath  and  her  fireside  teachings,  her  sweet  example  and 
her  holy  love,  spread,  all  unconsciously,  a  shield  before  him,  in 
many  an  hour  of  temptation. 

Ralph  Cameron  had  not  forgotten  him :  he  constantly  visited 
the  friend  of  his  youth.  College  friendship  and  Christian  prin- 


220  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

ciples  impelled  him  forward.  He  uttered  no  reproaches, 
listened  calmly  to  all  of  Frank's  romantic  anticipations  ;  always 
called  for  him,  on  Sabbath  days,  to  take  him  to  the  house  of 
God;  for,  strange  to  say,  these  early  habits  were  never  wholly 
relinquished,  and  it  was  a  singular  sight,  to  many  who  witnessed 
his  stage  performances,  to  see  him  weekly  in  the  house  of  God, 
by  the  side  of  Kalph  Cameron.  Common  spectators  were  not, 
perhaps,  aware  of  the  power  of  an  early  religious  education  ; 
they  did  not  know  with  what  impressive  calls  the  silvery  chimes 
of  Sabbath-bells  banished,  for  a  while,  the  bustle  and  excite- 
ment of  a  public  life,  and  brought  back  the  quiet  skies,  the 
green  lanes,  the  music  of  the  village  bells,  the  sweet  organ,  the 
tender  tones  of  a  departed  mother,  and  the  solemn  teachings  of 
his  early  pastor.  The  city  bells  never  called  in  vain ;  for  the 
services  of  the  sanctuary  brought  back  his  home  at  Ravens- 
wood  :  and  even  that  domestic  association  was  unspeakably 
valuable  to  the  misguided  youth,  for  it  kept  him  within  reach 
of  holy  influences.  He  corresponded,  constantly,  with  Edith, 
but  had  never  received  one  line,  not  even  a  message,  from  his 
father,  and  he  felt  the  bitterness  of  banishment  from  the 
paternal  roof. 

After  he  had  been  for  some  time  following  his  profession,  he 
was  sitting  in  his  room,  one  day,  when  a  knock  came 'to  his 
chamber-door.  On  opening  it,  what  was  his  surprise  to  see 
Aunt  Priscilla.  "Come  in,  aunt,"  said  the  young  man,  al- 
though he  was  not  much  pleased  to  see  the  old  lady.  Taking 
her  seat,  she  spread  her  handkerchief  on  her  lap,  placed  her 
spectacles  quietly  upon  her  nose,  and  commenced  rocking  her- 
self, and  tapping  her  foot  quickly  upon  the  floor.  Frank  re- 
garded all  this  as  preparations  for  a  serious  lecture,  and,  with 
his  old  expression  of  arch  humor  on  his  face,  he  awaited  the 
delivery. 

"  I'spose  that  I'm  not  a  welcome  visitor,  Frank,  but  ye  see 
I  had  to  come,  to  speak  my  mind  about  your  awful  life. 
You're  breakin'  your  father's  heart,  and  killing  yer  sister 
Edith,  by  yer  graceless  conduct." 

"  Why,  Aunt  Priscilla,  I  am  not  following  any  vicious  ways." 


DISAPPOINTED   HOPES.  221 

"  Why,  what  do  you  call  the  play-house?  I  call  it  Satan's 
synagogue.  I  think  it's  awful  to  go  there,  and  then  to  be  one 
of  the  players,  I  wonder  yer  mother's  sperit  doesn't  follow  ye 
every  night." 

"Why,  aunty,  I  don't  have  anything  to  do  with  the  other 
members  of  the  theatre,  only  in  the  way  of  business." 

"  Well,  even  to  be  on  the  same  stage,  and  actin'  with  sich  a 
set  of  drinkin',  swearin',  rantipole  men,  is  aAvful,  in  the  sight 
of  all  good  men  and  woman ;  and  mark  my  words,  Frank,  ye 
can't  touch  pitch  without  bein'  blackened." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  make  you  all  so  unhappy,  but  I  could  not 
be  a  merchant,  and,  with  my  talents,  I  may  be  a  great  per- 
former." 

"  Oh,  if  ye  could  jist  see  yer  poor  father!  I  hardly  knowed 
him  agin.  He  never  smiles.  He  walks  about  his  place  with 
his  eyes  down  on  the  ground.  His  back  is  bowed  like  an  old 
man,  and  his  step  is  onstiddy.  We're  all  afraid  that  he'll  have 
a  stroke,  if  he  keeps  on  in  the  same  way." 

Frank  was  deeply  affected  by  this  account,  for  his  affec- 
tionate heart  yearned  for  his  father  and  his  home ;  but  he  was 
by  no  means  disposed  to  listen  to  the  advice  of  those  whom  he 
ho  termed  mistaken  friends.  Aunt  Priscilla  wiped  her  eyes 
with  her  brown  silk  handkerchief,  took  an  extra  pinch  of  snuff, 
then  seizing  her  blue  cotton  umbrella,  bade  Frank  good-bye, 
sadly  afraid  that  he  was  wholly  given  up  to  the  evil  one. 

Edith  longed  to  see  her  brother.  Many  were  the  dreary 
hours  which  she  spent  at  Ravenswood,  ever  since  his  sunny 
smile  and  joyous  laugh  had  been  banished.  But  her  unwaver- 
ing trust  in  God  sustained  her,  and  letters  from  Gerald  cheered 
her  with  the  joyful  news  that  she  might  now  look  forward  to  a 
speedy  return.  One  evening,  after  the  lamps  were  lighted,  she 
was  sitting  alone  in  the  library.  She  had  been  reading,  and 
was  leaning  thoughtfully  upon  the  table,  ruminating  deeply 
upon  the  past.  Thoughts  of  her  absent  brother  always  visited 
her  at  this  hour,  and  she  often  wondered  when  she  should  see 
his  dear  face  again.  Suddenly,  she  thought  she  heard  a  quick 
tap  at  the  window.  She  raised  her  head  and  listened  again ; 


222  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

the  tap  was  repeated  more  loudly.  She  arose,  and  putting 
aside  the  heavy  curtain,  she  was  almost  certain  that  she  saw 
the  face  of  a  man  gazing  earnestly  into  the  room.  Alarmed, 
she  was  about  retreating,  but  another  tap  came,  and  she  heard 
distinctly,  close  to  the  window,  "  Hist !  hist !  Edith,  sister 
Edith,  it  is  I."  Raising  the  window,  she  recognized  her 
beloved  brother.  Pale  and  agitated,  he  seized  her  hand,  and 
pressing  it  to  his  lips,  said,  "Dear  sister,  I  must  see  you.  Will 
you  not  come  down  to  the  rock !  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say." 

"  Wait  a  moment,  dear  Frank,"  said  the  excited  girl,  "I  will 
be  with  you  presently."  Hastily  throwing  on  a  hood  and 
cloak,  she  joined  her  brother,  and  quickly  reached  the  familiar 
seat  on  the  shore.  He  pressed  her  closely  to  his  heart,  and 
said,  "  Dear  sister,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you.  Tell  me  all 
about  home.  How  is  father  ?" 

"  Oh,  Frank !  ever  since  that  fatal  night  he  has  never  been 
the  same;  the  excitement  of  that  scene  was  too  much  for  him. 
We  fear  that  he  has  had  a  slight  paralysis,  for  he  has  never 
taken  much  interest  in  his  usual  pursuits  since  then.  He  will  be, 
for  days  together,  shut  up  in  the  library,  neglects  his  farm,  and 
seems  always  depressed.  We  never  dare  mention  your  name." 

Frank  listened  sadly  to  this  intelligence,  and  replied,  "Sister, 
I  have  felt  the  sentence  of  banishment  a  bitter  trial,  but  I 
think  that  it  was  unjust.  I  have  had  other  trials.  When 
father  forbade  my  appearance  in  New  York,  I  was  determined 
to  persevere,  so  I  joined  a  company  of  strolling  players.  I 
thought  that  I  was  among  gentlemen,  but  I  found  out  my 
mistake.  They  cheated  me  out  of  my  share  of  money ;  their 
profligacy  disgusted  me,  and  I  returned  to  New  York  heart- 
sick. When  I  found  that  the  interdict  was  removed,  I  had 
hoped  that  father  would  relent,  but  I  have  since  discovered 
that  indifference  to  my  fate  was  the  motive  that  prompted  the 
action.  I  have  been  encouraged  in  my  maiden  efforts,  but  I 
will  own,  sister,  that  the  future  does  not  appear  so  bright; 
there  are  very  slow  stepping-stones  over  which  I  must  travel. 
I  appear  next  week  in  a  new  character-, — that  of  Richard  III. 
It  is  the  most  difficult  which  I  have  ever  attempted." 


DISAPPOINTED   HOPES.  223 

"  Brother,"  said  Edith,  as  she  laid  her  hand  gently  on  his 
arm,  "there  is  one  thing  which  I  wish  you  to  remember,  and 
it  is  this  :  at  the  very  hour  when  you  appear  upon  the  stage, 
I  shall  be  in  my  mother's  room,  praying  for  my  dear  brother's 
return  to  his  God  and  his  home.  Will  you  think  of  it,  dear 
Frank?" 

For  a  moment  he  could  not  speak,  but  at  last  he  replied, 
"  It  would  be  hard,  Edith,  to  forget  such  a  solemn  and  loving 
request.  If  it  were  not  for  you,  my  sister,  I  should  be  driven 
to  despair.  You  know  not  what  a  talisman  your  love  has  been 
to  me." 

After  an  hour  spent  in  affectionate  conversation,  Frank 
conducted  Edith  to  the  house.  Arriving  before  the  library- 
windows,  he  saw  several  figures  in  the  room.  Drawing  nearer, 
he  perceived  Blanche  seated  with  Adele  before  a  table,  playing 
at  some  game,  and  Madge,  on  the  steps,  taking  down  some 
volumes  from  a  high  shelf. 

"How  lovely  Blanche  is!"  said  Frank;  "and  there  is  dear, 
merry  Adele,  bright  as  ever ;  and  odd,  eccentric  Madge,  queer 
as  ever.  I  couldn't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  tease  her  now,  Edith. 
Can't  I  speak  a  word  to  them  before  I  go  ?" 

Edith  advanced,  and  knocking  at  the  window,  she  saw  that 
they  were  at  first  startled,  but  when  she  raised  it  slowly,  and 
showed  who  was  there,  surprise  took  the  place  of  fear. 
"  Come  here,  Madge,"  whispered  Edith,  "  here  is  our  dear 
brother." 

Clasping  her  hands  in  joyful  surprise,  she  turned  round, 
and  exclaimed,  "  Frank  is  here !"  All  three  ran  hastily  out, 
and,  clasped  in  their  brother's  arms,  a  joyful  welcome  burst 
from  each. 

"  Dear,  dear  Frank,"  said  Adele,  "  how  glad  I  am  I"  and 
she  clung  around  her  brother's  neck,  while  Blanche  seized  his 
hand,  imprinting  warm  kisses  upon  it,  and  Madge  manifested 
her  joy  in  a  more  quiet  manner.  Raising  the  sash  of  the 
glass  door,  Adele  drew  Frank  hastily  into  the  room, — "I 
must  see  you,  if  it  is  only  for  a  minute,"  said  the  excited 
girl ;  "  but,  dear  brother,  you  are  pale,  your  eyes  are  hollow  ; 


224  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

you  are  not  happy,  Frank.  Oh !  brother,  brother,  come 
back!" 

"  I  can  stay  but  one  minute,  dear  girls ;  I  must  not  be  seen 
here."  A  noise  of  approaching  footsteps  coming  up  the  avenue 
warned  him  to  depart.  "Farewell,  dear  sisters!  Don't  forget 
me."  A  hasty  embrace,  and,  in  another  minute,  he  was  gone. 

Edith's  heart  was  cheered  by  even  this  short  visit,  for  she 
thought  that,  though  he  wished  to  conceal  it,  he  was  beginning 
to  weary  of  his  new  life ;  and,  with  stronger  faith  and  brighter 
hopes,  she  left  him  in  the  hand  of  her  Redeemer.  On  the 
following  Friday  he  made  his  appearance  in  the  character  of 
Richard  III.  A  mumber  of  his  friends,  even  some  essentially 
worldly,  were  conscious  of  what  a  great  sacrifice  the  young 
man  had  made.  They  had  heard  of  the  distress  at  home,  of 
the  disappointment  of  the  father,  the  grief  of  sisters.  They 
knew  much  of  his  private  worth ;  and,  moreover,  their  fears 
led  them  to  believe  that  the  want  of  deep  compass  of  voice 
would  be  a  serious  hindrance  to  advancement  in  his  profession 
to  the  rank  of  a  star ;  therefore  they  concluded  to  bring  his 
connection  with  the  stage  to  a  close.  They  knew  his  proud, 
sensitive  nature,  and  that  he  would  never  brook  a  repulse.  In 
one  of  the  most  difficult  parts  of  the  character  his  voice  failed 
entirely.  At  the  moment,  the  thought  of  Edith's  solemn  ap- 
peal, the  kneeling  sister  in  his  mother's  room,  the  fervent 
prayers  of  that  beloved  parent,  her  dying  words,  came  sud- 
denly before  him  and  unmanned  him.  On  the  failure  of  his 
voice,  his  recollection  left  him ;  words  would  not  come.  He 
stood  confounded.  Slight  hisses,  commenced  by  friends,  as- 
sailed him.  An  attempt  to  encourage  was  useless ;  the  hisses 
were  redoubled,  until,  in  agony  of  grief  and  shame,  he  rushed 
from  the  stage. 

Stung  to  the  soul,  he  shut  himself  up  for  days.  He  would 
see  no  one,  until  at  last,  Ralph  gained  admittance. 

"  My  friend,  I  congratulate  you,"  said  Ralph.  "  I  regard 
this  final  failure  as  the  interference  of  a  gracious  Providence 
in  your  behalf.  When  the  mortification  has  passed  away,  you 
will  thank  God  for  it  yet." 


DISAPPOINTED    HOPES.  225 

"  Do  not  talk  so,  Ralph,"  said  the  poor  yo.ith  ;  "  I  can  never 
show  myself  again  in  this  community.  I  shall  be  pointed  out 
as  a  degraded  man." 

"Do  you  know,  Frank,  that  your  friends  hissed  you  off ? 
they  were  so  entirely  convinced  that  you  ought  not  to  be  so 
sacrificed." 

"  Will  you  see  that  such  a  statement  is  made  in  the  public 
papers?"  answered  Frank. 

"  I  will,  gladly,"  replied  Ralph.  "I  am  thankful,  and  be- 
lieve that  Edith's  prayers  have  thus  been  answered." 

Longing  for  his  sister's  sympathy,  he  resolved  to  seek  her 
counsel;  but  ere  he  started  for  Ravenswood,  late  in  the  after- 
noon he  strolled  alone  to  the  Battery.  Seated  on  one  of  the 
stools,  the  sight  of  the  placid  bay  calmed  his  troubled  spirit. 
While  seated  there,  in  sad  abstraction  from  surrounding 
objects,  he  did  not  for  some  minutes  observe  the  figures  of  two 
young  ladies  who  were  passing  near  him.  They  were  in  close 
conversation,  and  were  walking  backward  and  forward  on  the 
path  near  where  he  was  seated.  Raising  his  eyes  for  a  moment, 
he  encountered  those  of  Eveleen  Austin,  who  was  walking  with 
her  sister.  • 

His  first  impulse  was  to  arise,  and  hasten  towards  her ;  but 
the  second  thought,  that  he  was  now  a  disgraced  and  fallen 
aspirant,  held  him  back.  He  bowed  sadly  to  the  young  girls. 
The  disappointed  look  with  which  Eveleen  returned  his  salu- 
tation almost  overcame  his  resolution,  for  he  had  not  seen  the 
sweet  girl  for  some  months.  Seeing  her  move  away  despair- 
ingly, he  arose  timidly,  and,  when  they  turned  back  again,  he 
advanced,  extended  his  hand,  and  said,  "  Can  Miss  Austin 
deign  to  notice  such  a  fallen  man?" 

She  raised  her  eyes,  swimming  in  tears,  as  she  replied,  "  I 
shall  never  look  upon  you  as  a  fallen  man,  Mr.  Clifford,  so 
long  as  you  are  free  from  vice.  Misfortunes  may  assail  the 
most  excellent.  It  is  worth  that  I  esteem." 

"Thank  you,  dear  Eveleen,  for  those  balmy  words;  you 
know  not  how  they  soothe  my  spirit." 

"  You  may  always  count  upon  my  sympathy,  so  long  as  you 
15 


226  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

are  virtuous,  Frank.  I  must  say  that  I  \\as  deeply  indignant 
at  the  conduct  of  your  friends  last  Friday  night." 

"There  is -an  end  of  that  dreara,  Eveleen.  I  know  not  yet 
vliat  I  shall  do.  I  shall  seek  my  sister,  and  ask  her  advice. 
I  shall  never  try  the  stage  again." 

"  Will  you  tell  your  parents  that  you  have  seen  me, 
Eveleen  ?"  answered  Frank ;  "  I  will  never  stoop  to  see  you 
clandestinely." 

"  I  will  comply  with  your  request,"  answered  Eveleen. 
Walking  up  to  her  own  door  with  the  young  girls,  he  took  his 
leave,  cheered  by  the  sweet  words  that  fell  from  her  lips. 

Edith  had  heard  of  her  brother's  defeat,  and,  though  sorry 
for  his  mortification,  was  filled  with  high  hopes  for  the  future. 
She  was  not  much  surprised  on  hearing  the  tap  at  the  library- 
window,  which  had  at  first  so  much  alarmed  her.  Obeying 
the  summons  hastily,  she  repaired  to  the  lawn,  where  she  was 
received  in  the  arms  of  her  beloved  brother.  "  I  am  a  poor, 
forlorn  man,  Edith,"  replied  Frank.  "I  have  none  left  but 
you,  and  Ralph,  and  Eveleen.  I  know  not  where  to  turn. 
All  the  future  is  dark  and  dismal.  Do  you  know,  sister,  that 
your  words  haunted  me  on  that  night  ?  My  mother's  prayers 
— her  dying  accents — rang  in  my  ears ;  they  unmanned  me. 
I  forgot  everything.  I  almost  believe,  Edith,  that  your 
prayers  prevailed  that  night." 

"  Thank  God,  dear  Frank,  for  anything  that  released  you 
from  such  a  destiny.  I  do  not  despair  of  the  future.  After 
the  first  disappointment  is  over,  you  will  see  the  wisdom  of 
all." 

"  Will  my  father  see  me?"  answered  Frank. 

"I  will  not  ask  him  yet;  he  feels  the  mortification  too 
keenly ;  but  I  think  he  will,  after  a  while." 

After  taking  leave  of  Edith,  the  young  man  was  walking 
slowly  down  the  shore,  when  he  met  Uncle  Peter. 

"Dear  Massa  Frank,  is  that  your  face,  at  last?"  said  the 
good  old  servant.  "  The  good  Heavenly  Father  hasn't  for- 
gotten you ;  he  sends  troubles,  Massa  Frank,  to  bring  us  to 
himself.  I  'spect  to  see  you  a  preacher,  some  day,  yet.  If 


DISAPPOINTED   HOPES.  227 

you  wants  public  speaking,  go  speak  for  your  Master,  but 
don't  sarve  de  devil,  by  playin'  in  his  synagogue.  I  was 
right  glad  when  I  heerd  what  had  happened  to  you  in  t^he  big 
city.  Don't  take  it  too  much  to  heart,  good  will  come  on 
it  yet." 

"  It  was  very  hard  to  bear,  Uncle  Peter,"  answered  Frank. 

"  I  'spose  'twas  a  great  cross,  but  I  thought  I  could  e'en 
a'most  hear  dear  missis  rejoicin'  up  in  heaven,  at  the  good 
news." 

Turning  away,  as  he  wiped  a  tear  from  his  eye,  he  shook  the 
old  man's  hand,  and  said,  "  You  are  a  kind  old  friend,  ^Uncle 
Peter;  good-bye." 

"  God  bless  you,  massa  Frank :  you'll  be  here  agin,  in  your 
father's  old  hall.  Massa  has  a  soft  heart  under  a  rough 
shell." 

Edith  perceived  a  manifest  change  in  her  father,  after 
Frank's  disappointment.  Aware  of  his  peculiar  temper,  she 
forbore  any  remarks  concerning  her  brother,  but  her  hopes 
were  sanguine.  She  wrote  to  Ralph,  begging  him  to  interest 
himself,  by  obtaining  some  employment.  His  answer  assured 
her  of  his  deep  sympathy,  and  she  felt  certain  that  he  would 
soon  be  provided  for.  With  increasing  faith  in  all  God's 
promises,  she  saw  the  first  faint  beams  of  the  sun  of  hope 
tinting  the  mountain-tops  of  difficulty  in  her  brother's  des- 
tiny, and  she  felt  that  she  could  patiently  wait  for  the  fuller 
blaze  of  the  noonday,  flooding  his  path  with  light  from 
heaven. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


MISGUIDED     MADGE. 

NGELS    of   peace    fanned    their    gentle    wings 
m      around    Edith's    pillow ;    dreams   of  happiness 
visited  her  sleeping  hours ;  hope   whispered   its 
sweet  messages  to  her  heart,  and  she  walked,  for 
a  while,  on  the  borders  of  "  Immanuel's  laud." 
£ ££¥          At  peace  with  heaven,  her  prospects  at   home 
f  were    cheering.     Frank    was    released    from    his 

degradation,  Madge  seemed  more  gentle  and  im- 
pressible, and  Gerald,  dear  Gerald,  was  expected  daily. 
These  sunbeams  drew  her  nearer  to  heaven,  and  floods  of 
gratitude  shed  their  halo  of  light  around  her  whole  aspect. 
Her  countenance,  usually  so  placid,  beamed  with  the  blessed- 
ness of  nearer  communion  with  the  skies,  and  all  who  looked 
upon  her  felt  that,  if  the  beauty  of  the  soul,  shining  out  of 
eyes  and  lips  and  illumining  the  whole  face,  constituted  real 
loveliness,  Edith  was  beautiful.  She  had  resumed  her  harp, 
and  devoted  a  portion  of  each  day  to  practice.  The  deep  and 
solemn  music  of  the  old  composers  suited  the  tone  of  her 
spirit ;  although,  to  please  her  father,  she  studied  much  of  the 
music  of  the  day.  Her  voice  was  delightful,  and,  when 
poured  out  in  strains  of  touching  melody,  entranced  the 
hearers. 

One  summer  evening  she  had  taken  her  seat  by  her  harp  in 
the  drawing-room.     Her  form  was  tall  and  commanding,  and 
228 


MISGUIDED   MADGE.  229 

the  attitude  which  she  assumed  displayed  the  grace  and 
dignity  of  her  figure.  Sweeping  her  fingers  over  the  instru- 
ment, the  room  was  filled  with  sweetest  melody.  Under 
the  inspiration  of  the  moment,  her  fine  dark  eyes  were 
turned  upward;  masses  of  shining  hair,  dark  as  a  raven's 
wing,  encircled  her  classic  head.  As  strain  after  strain 
warbled  from  her  sweet  lips,  she  was  not  aware  of  the 
approach  of  a  carriage  driving  up  the  avenue,  nor  of  the 
footsteps  which  halted  before  the  open  window  reaching 
down  to  the  lawn.  Stopping  a  moment  to  rest  her  fingers, 
she  turned  suddenly,  facing  the  window.  With  one  long 
gaze  of  bewildered  ,joy,  she  recognized  the  smiling  face. 
Clasping  her  hands,  she  exclaimed,  "  Dear  Gerald,  have  you 
come  at  last!" 

Crossing  the  room  rapidly,  he  grasped  the  small  hands, 
and  said,  "  Thank  God,  dearest,  safe  at  home  at  last.  I  have 
just  arrived.  I  heard  the  music,  I  knew  the  dear  voice,  and 
could  not  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  listening  unobserved. 

How  greatly  you  have  improved,  Edith.  You  certainly 
have  grown,  and  your  voice  is  perfection." 

"  Do  not  flatter  me,  Gerald  ;  there  is  enough  in  the  heart  to 
tempt  to  vanity,  do  not  let  words  from  Christian  lips  feed  the 
baneful  passion." 

He  led  Edith  to  a  seat  on  the  sofa,  where  some  gentle 
tears  relieved  her  full  heart.  An  hour's  intercourse  of  sweet 
thoughts  and  pure  affeotion  almost  repaid  for  the  pains  of 
absence. 

"  Where  is  Josephine  ?" 

"  She  is  at  home,"  answered  Gerald ;  "  but  more  eccentric 
than  ever.  Added  to  all  her  ridiculous  notions  about  '  woman's 
wrongs  and  woman's  rights '  her  head  is  filled  with  French 
philosophy.  She  became  acquainted  with  many  distinguished 
French  women ;  she  attended  their  soirees,  listened  to  their 
lectures,  and  has  figured  largely  herself  on  many  public  occa- 
sions. She  is  so  full  of  the  doctrines  of  the  Socialists,  that  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  she  attempts  to  form  an  institution 
after  the  model  of  what  she  has  seen  in  France.  She  has 


230  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

often  declared  that  Christianity  is  a  great  failure,  and  that  she 
has  discovered  the  remedy  for  all  social  evils.  She  has  con- 
siderable talent  for  sculpture,  and  has  cultivated  it  while  at 
Rome;  she  really  has  brought  home  some  very  fine  specimens 
of  her  work." 

While  they  were  conversing,  Gerald  observed  two  young 
ladies  coming  up  the  avenue.  At  first,  he  did  not  recognize 
them,  for  two  years  had  made  a  great  change  in  their  ap- 
pearance. When  he  had  last  seen  them,  he  remembered  them 
as  young  and  unformed  girls.  He  heard  Adele's  merry  voice 
chatting  away  as  of  yore. 

"  Blanche,  do  you  ever  think  of  the  Percys?  I  really  would 
like  to  see  Clara  and  May  very  much.  I  think  they  are  long 
in  paying  us  the  promised  visit.  I  suppose  that  Lionel  has 
forgotten  the  water-nymph." 

"  You  don't  make  me  believe  that,  Adele,"  replied  Blanche. 
"I  think  I  have  seen  a  cunning  little  postcript  at  the  foot  of 
Clara's  letters ;  but  I  tell  you,  Adele,  I  should  be  dreadfully 
afraid  of  his  dignity." 

"  But  who  have  we  here?"  said  Adele.  "  There  is  a  gentle- 
man in  the  drawing-room,  Blanche." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  hall-door,  and  Gerald, 
coming  out,  was  taken  completely  by  surprise  at  the  lovely 
figure  which  presented  herself  before  him.  Gerald  was  at  all 
times  a  passionate,  admirer  of  beauty,  and  for  a  moment  stood 
enraptured.  She  had  grown  considerably.  Her  figure  was 
one  of  matchless  symmetry.  Every  movement  was  graceful. 
Her  little  foot  peeped  out  from  under  her  long  dress  in  all  its 
fairy  dimensions,  and  in  one  dimpled  hand  she  carried  her 
flat,  decorated  with  wild  flowers.  Her  deep  blue  eyes  were 
shaded  by  long,  dark,  curling  lashes ;  around  her  mouth 
played  troops  of  bewitching  dimples.  Every  feature  was 
faultless.  Her  charming  complexion  was  heightened  by 
exercise,  and  a  profusion  of  golden-brown  hair  hung  over  a 
snowy  neck  and  shoulders  in  graceful  ringlets.  The  expres- 
sion of  her  face  was  inclined  to  the  pensive  rather  than  the 
gay,  and  there  was  about  her  whole  manner  that  dependent 


MISGUIDED   MADGE.  231 

caressing  gentleness  which   is  so  attractive  in  a  young  and 
lovely  woman. 

"And  this  is  Blanche,  I  suppose?"  said  Gerald,  as  he  re- 
spectfully took  her  hand.  The  young  girl  blushed  at  the 
evident  admiration  which  she  had  excited.  "  Is  this  young 
lady  mischievous  Adele?  I  think  I  see  some  of  the  old 
merriment  sparkling  about  her  still." 

"  These  are  our  little  twins,  Gerald,"  said  Edith ;  "  they 
make  me  feel  quite  old.  A  very  short  time  since  they  were 
little  girls ;  now  you  see  we  are  compelled  to  treat  them  as 
young  ladies." 

"  You  have  no  idea,  Gerald,  how  wonderfully  we  have  im- 
proved," said  Adele.  "We  have  been  taught  to  speak 
French,  to  dance,  to  play,  to  sing,  to  draw,  thought  I  cannot 
pretend  to  much  proficiency  in  the  latter, — Blanche  excels  in 
that;  then,  good  sister  Edith  would  not  allow  us  to  neglect 
household  accomplishments,  so  we  can  make  pies,  and  cakes, 
and  jellies;  we  know  exactly  how  a  house  ought  to  be  kept; 
we  can  sew  and  knit,  and  I  am  sure  that  I  can  talk  and 
laugh ;  indeed,  Gerald,  you  must  respect  us  highly,"  dropping 
a  mock  courtesy,  "  for  we  are  highly  accomplished  young  ladies, 
and  ready  to  make  our  debut  next  winter." 

Gerald  laughed,  as  he  replied,  "You  are  sportive,  merry 
Adele  yet,  I  can  see  that."  He  was  much  pleased  with  the 
change  in  Madge,  who  had  lost  much  of  her  bashfulness ;  and, 
although  no  beauty,  was  a  pleasing,  graceful  little  creature, 
with  the  most  remarkable  eyes  that  ever  sparkled  in  a  youthful 
face. 

After  supper,  Gerald  whispered  to  Edith,  "Shall  we  not 
seek  our  old  trysting-place?  How  often  have  my  thoughts 
wandered  to  the  old  elm  tree."  Edith,  soon  equipped  for  a  Avalk, 
joined  Gerald  on  the  lawn,  and  they  rambled  with  slow  steps 
down  the  familiar  avenue.  When  they  reached  the  spot, 
seated  by  the  side  of  the  one  she  loved,  Edith  was,  for  the 
moment,  perfectly  happy. 

"  You  remember  your  promise,  dearest,"  said  Gerald,  "  the 
night  before  I  left  America?" 


232  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  I  do,  Gerald,  but  it  seems  like  something  in  the  far-off  dis- 
tance that  I  dare  scarcely  think  of." 

'•  And  why  not,  Edith  ?  How  long  am  I  to  wait  for  its  ful- 
filment ?" 

"Can  you  ask  me,  Gerald  ?  You  know  ray  promise  to  my 
dying  mother,  that,  so  long  as  my  sisters  need  my  presence,  I 
will  never  leave  them  ;  and  does  not  dear,  blind  Lilly,  and 
little  Emily  need  my  care  ?  Could  I  forsake  them  when  they 
are  so  young  ?  They  cling  to  me  as  fondly  as  to  a  mother,  and 
I  shall  be  neglecting  a  most  solemn  duty  to  forsake  them  now." 

Gerald's  countenance  fell,  as  he  said,  "And  how  long,  Edith, 
would  you  think  it  your  duty  to  make  me  wait?" 

"I  know  not,  Gerald,"  replied  Edith,  her  eyes  swimming  in 
tears.  "  I  scarcely  think  that  I  ought  to  hold  you  to  such  a 
long  engagement.  If  you  wish  for  a  release  it  is  yours,  Gerald, 
but  I  dare  not  forsake  my  sisters." 

"Not  so,  Edith,  but  I  think  that  you  have  very  romantic 
ideas  of  duty.  Blanche  and  Adele  are  old  enough  to  take 
charge  of  your  father's  family." 

"  But  they  did  not  promise,  Gerald,"  said  Edith,  as  she  fixed 
her  earnest  eyes  upon  his  face,  "  and  I  did." 

After  conversing  for  some  time  upon  the  subject,  the  late- 
ness of  the  hour  warned  them  to  return;  and  a  deep  shadow 
fell  upon  Edith's  heart  as  she  left  the  old  familiar  seat.  Gerald 
often  remonstrated  with  her,  but  could  not  change  her  views  of 
duty,  or  stifle  the  pleadings  of  a  mother's  love. 

As  soon  as  possible,  Madge  paid  a  visit  to  Josephine,  and 
was  much  charmed  with  the  description  of  what  she  had  seen 
and  heard  while  abroad.  On  entering  her  studio,  the  young 
girl's  respect  was  much  increased  by  the  display  which  Josephine 
made  of  her  sculpture.  She  had  some  very  beautiful  specimens 
of  her  talent,  and  enlarged  eloquently  upon  the  number  of 
female  artists  that  she  had  met  abroad. 

"  I  wish  that  you  could  have  been  with  me  in  Paris,  Madge," 
said  Josephine.  "I  could  have  introduced  you  to  some  of  the 
greatest  women  in  the  world.  There  was  Madame  La  Porte* 
the  great  philosopher ;  and  Madame  Fontaine,  a  great  chemist ; 


MISGUIDED   MADGE.  233 

Madame  Leisseur,  a  profound  politician;  Madame  Lu  Moulin, 
a  great  historian  ;  Madame  Chapron,  a  great  physician  ;  and 
Madame  De  Bellak,  a  celebrated  surgeon.  I  was  invited 
weekly  to  their  saloons,  where  J  met  some  of  the  most  brilliant 
minds  in  Europe.  I  have  listened  to  lectures  from  these  ladies 
more  profound  than  I  have  ever  heard  from  men  ;  and  really,  I 
do  not  see  how  I  can  endure  the  tame  society  that  I  shall  meet 
with  in  America.  Then,  these  ladies  are  all  Socialists,  and  are 
full  of  grand  ideas  of  reforming  society.  Christianity  is  a  great 
failure,  and  I  really  think,  Madge,  that  I  will  devote  my  talents 
to  the  same  noble  end." 

Although  Madge  was  duly  impressed  by  the  flash  of  Joseph- 
ine's eloquence,  from  the  power  of  early  instruction  some  very 
old-fashioned  questions  would  arise  in  her  mind,  and  she  won- 
dered whether  there  were  no  excellent  wives,  mothers,  or  sisters 
to  be  found  in  those  literary  circles.  If  the  women  of  a  nation 
were  all  to  be  philosophers,  historians,  politicians,  lawyers,  or 
physicians,  she  could  not  but  ask,  what  would  become  of  the 
youth  of  the  land  ?  These  were  mental  problems  that  would 
occasionally  agitate  the  brain  even  of  Madge  Clifford.  But 
like  a  young  enthusiast,  she  was  led  away  by  Josephine's  repre. 
sentations,  and  agreed  to  the  plan  of  coming  over  daily  to 
pursue  a  course  of  study,  under  her  direction,  that  would  fit  her 
for  enlarged  usefulness  in  the  theatre  of  the  world.  When 
Edith  saw  that  Madge  was  so  much  engrossed  by  her  new  pur- 
suits as  to  neglect  her  home  duties,  at  first  she  kindly  remon- 
strated, and  laid  before  her  the  consequences  to  female  char- 
acter of  such  inattentions,  and  bogged  her  not  to  abuse  the 
talents,  which  God  had  given  her,  for  unwomanly  pursuits. 

"  Why,  Edith,  if  I  should  take  your  advice,  what  should  I  be 
good  for?"  said  Madge.  "  For  nothing  but  to  bake  puddings, 
hem  handkerchiefs,  mend  stockings,  visit  old  women,  and  teach 
ragged,  dirty  children." 

"  Well,  my  sister,  are  not  these  feminine  employments  to  be 
attended  to  ?  I  do  not  wish  you,  dear  Madge,  to  be  a  house- 
hold drudge,  but  I  do  want  you  to  be  a  true-hearted  woman ; 
intellectual,  if  you  please,  to  the  highest  degree  of  cultivation, 


234  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

but  qualified  to  make  a  home  happy,  in  being  able  to  direct  all 
the  nameless  workings*of  a  well-ordered  household." 

"  I  do  not  think,  sister,  with  my  aspirations,  that  I  could 
ever  be  contented  in  such  a  humble,  retired  sphere ;  that  will 
do  very  well  for  tame,  ordinary  women,  but  for  a  highly  gifted 
genius,  it  never  could  be  intended  that  she  should  hide  her 
talents  in  the  shade." 

"  Where  did  you  get  such  ideas  from,  Madge?  Surely,  not 
from  our  dear  mother,"  answered  Edith.  "  Compare  her  char- 
acter with  Josephine's,  When  did  you  ever  see  our  parent 
going  about  her  house  until  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day,  with 
tangled  hair,  slipshod  shoes,  and  an  old  shawl  thrown  over 
her  shoulders?  She  always  found  time  for  all  her  duties:  for 
her  children,  for  the  cultivation  of  her  mind,-^for  she  always 
had  some  useful  course  of  daily  reading, — for  benevolence,  for 
friendship,  but  never  neglected  the  proprieties  of  life.  Hers 
was  a  perfectly  symmetrical  character  ;  and  I  never  can  bear  to 
gee  you,  Madge,  pass  by  such  a  model,  to  follow  a  female  so 
greatly  perverted  as  Josephine  Fortescue." 

"  We  shall  never  agree,  Edith,"  said  Madge,  "  and  you  must 
allow  me  to  judge  for  myself;  I  am  old  enough,  and  am  deter- 
mined to  devote  myself  to  literary  and  philanthropic  pursuits." 

"  I  do  not  object  to  either,"  said  Edith,  "  but  I  would  not 
have  them  under  Josephine's  direction.  I  think,  that  in  a 
well-ordered  mind,  they  could  be  pursued  without  neglecting 
any  home  duty.  I  had  a  friend  who  visited  England,  and  had 
letters  of  introduction  to  the  family  of  Mrs.  Wilson,  formerly 
Caroline  Fry.  She  said  that  she  had  never  visited  a  more 
charming  home,  or  saw  a  specimen  of  more  perfect  housekeep- 
ing, than  in  the  family  of  that  interesting  lady.  I  should  not 
object  to  see  you  such  a  literary  character;  but  remember,  that 
Mrs.  Wilson  was  a  consistent,  devoted  Christian,  and  bent  her 
gentle  neck  to  'the  yoke  of  Christ.'" 

Madge,  with  her  usual  self-will,  persevered  in  her  devotion 
to  Josephine,  and  spent  all  her  mornings  at  Oak  Hall.  When 
Miss  Fortescue  undertook  the  editing  of  a  paper,  entitled 
"  Woman's  Advocate,"  she  enlisted  the  talents  of  Madge  Clif- 


MISGUIDED   MADG.3.  235 

ford  as  one  of  the  chief  contributors.  Articles  from  her  pen 
excited  much  attention;  and,  flattered  by* Miss  Fortescue,  she 
wandered  still  farther  away  from  the  paths  of  modest  humility. 

First  she  wrote  on  abolitionism,  then  on  priestcraft,  on  man's 
oppression,  on  woman's  wrongs,  and  woman's  talents.  Stepping 
still  farther  on,  she  advocated  the  doctrines  of  the  Socialists ; 
then  Edith  became  still  more  alarmed.  Aware  of  the  wild 
extremes  to  which  they  had  gone,  she  felt  as  if  the  very  citadel 
of  her  sister's  principles  was  in  danger.  She  remonstrated  with 
Madge,  then  she  appealed  to  her  father.  Having  a  peculiar 
dislike  for  all  that  was  masculine,  Mr.  Clifford  positively  for- 
bade the  continuance  of  such  a  course ;  but,  led  on  by  Joseph- 
ine, and  supposing  herself  persecuted,  she  became  more  and 
more  determined. 

While  the  Fortescues  were  in  Europe,  Madge  had  been  much 
more  regular  in  her  attendance  upon  the  house  of  God  ;  since 
th  >ir  return,  her  visits  had  gradually  declined,  until  she  was 
seen  no  more  in  her  father's  pew.  Edith  wrote  to  Ralph,  and 
begged  him  to  exert  his  influence ;  but  Madge  was  entrenched 
behind  a  fortification  of  arrogance,  self-conceit,  unwomanly 
prejudice,  and  extreme  ignorance  on  vital  points.  She  resented 
his  interference  as  an  encroachment  upon  her  rights,  did  not 
answer  his  first  letter,  and  returned  his  second  unopened ;  but 
not  without  some  pangs,  for  she  could  never  shake  off  the 
controlling  power  of  the  character  of  Ralph  Cameron :  she 
feared,  and  therefore  she  avoided  it.  She  became  sullen  at 
home,  neglected  her  duties,  avoided  Edith,  and  treated  her 
father  with  marked  disrespect. 

One  morning,  missing  the  wilful  girl  at  the  breakfast-table, 
Mr.  Clifford  inquired,  "  Where  is  Madge?" 

"  She  stayed  at  Josephine's  all  night,"  replied  Edith. 

Her  father  frowned,  and  asked,  "  How  long  is  this  intimacy 
to  continue?  I  have  expressed  my  disapprobation  repeatedly, 
but  it  appears  all  in  vain." 

"  I  regret  it,  dear  father ;  but  I  have  remonstrated,  and 
represented  the  consequence  of  yielding  to  Josephine's  guidance, 
but  she  seems  determined." 


236  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

When  she  made  her  appearance  at  the  dinner-table,  she 
scarcely  noticed  her*  father,  and  was  extremely  sullen  and  dis- 
agreeable. In  the  afternoon,  Edith  observed  her  preparing  to 
go  out ;  she  seemed  still  moody  and  silent. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Madge?"  asked  Edith. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  know,  Edith  ?  I  do  not  choose  to 
be  questioned  about  my  movements." 

"I  have  the  right  which  our  mother  gave  me,  Madge,  and 
fear  that  you  are  doing  something  wrong." 

"  I  am  going  to  New  York  with  Miss  Fortescue ;  she  will 
lecture  to-night,  and  I  wish  to  hear  her.  I  may  be  gone  for 
several  days.'* 

"Are  you  going  without  father's  consent?  I  fear,  Madge, 
that  there  is  great  trouble  before  you." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  be  treated  like  a  child.  If  I  cannot  be 
independent  here,  I  will  make  myself  so  soon." 

Putting  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  with  haughty  step,  she  left 
the  house.  Mr.  Clifford  was  greatly  displeased,  and  resolved 
upon  his  course.  When  Madge  returned — which  she  did  not 
do  for  several  days — he  received  her  with  coldness,  and  re- 
quested her  presence  in  the  library,  after  tea.  When  she 
entered,  it  was  with  a  haughty,  defiant  manner.  "Sit  down, 
Madge,  I  have  much  to  say,"  said  Mr.  Clifford.  "Your  con- 
duct is  exceedingly  offensive  to  me,  and  I  have  sent  to  have  a 
conversation  with  you.  I  have  been  greatly  mortified  at  the 
ridicule  which  you  are  incurring,  by  your  foolish  essays  in  your 
'  Woman's  Advocate.'  What  do  you  propose  by  this  un- 
womanly conduct?" 

"  Why,  father,  I  do  not  mean  to  pursue  the  tame  course  of  a 
common,  humdrum  woman.  I  know  that  I  have  more  talents 
than  ordinary,  and  I  do  not  mean  to  bury  them  in  obscurity." 

"Do  you  mean  also  to  follow  Josephine's  public  course?" 
asked  her  father,  with  suppressed  anger. 

"I  am  preparing  for  public  efforts,  and  will  devote  my  life 
to  deeds  of  philanthropy,  so  that  I  may  leave  behind  me  a 
name  among  the  distinguished  of  my  sex,"  answered  Madge. 

"  And  do  you  really  suppose  that  I  will  countenance  your 


MISGUIDED   MADGE  237 

folly,  or  allow  a  daughter,  dwelling  unoer  my  roof,  to  make 
such  a  fool  of  herself?" 

Her  color  rose,  and  her  bright  eyes  glanced  with  anger,  as 
she  replied,  "  We  are  not  born  to  be  the  slaves  of  men, — 
either  fathers,  husbands,  or  brothers;  and,  if  I  cannot  pursue 
the  bent  of  my  inclination  under  my  father's  roof,  I  can  easily 
seek  another." 

With  these  defiant,  wicked  words,  the  misguided  young  girl 
proudly  left  the  room.  From  that  day,  her  gloom  increased  ; 
she  seemed  wholly  estranged  from  her  family,  and  spent  most 
of  her  time  with  Josephine.  Her  father  was  cold  and  haughty, 
Edith  kind  and  forbearing  as  usual,  Blanche  indifferent,  and 
Adele  disposed  to  ridicule  the  follies  of  her  sister,  frequently 
styling  her  the  "  Professor."  She  was  rapidly  maturing  her 
future  plans,  having  fully  determined,  when  the  proper  time 
arrived,  to  leave  her  father's  house.  Her  preparations  were 
slowly  made,  for  fear  of  detection ;  and  often,  in  the  shades  of 
evening,  a  little  boy  was  seen  waiting  at  the  stile  that  divided 
the  estates  of  Kavenswood  and  Oak  Hall,  and  Madge,  as  she 
had  opportunity,  gradually  conveyed  her  clothes  away  in  band- 
boxes ; — as  a  woods  lay  between,  the  journey  could  always  be 
performed  unobserved. 

When  passing  her  mother's  room,  sometimes  her  heart  mis- 
gave her,  for  there  was  a  sweet,  tender  voice  that  whispered 
yet,  in  solemn  tones,  from  that  consecrated  spot ;  but  she  re- 
garded this  as  a  female  weakness,  which  she  must  learn  to 
overcome,  if  she  would  be  a  great  woman.  Having  removed 
nearly  all,  the  last  evening  had  arrived.  Standing,  for  the 
last  time  in  her  bed-room,  she  could  not  but  be  impressed 
with  the  importance  of  the  step  she  was  about  to  take.  She 
remembered  her  mother's  picture,  but  she  scarcely  had  the 
courage  to  open  the  little  desk  which  contained  it;  but  sum- 
moning all  her  resolution,  she  unlocked  the  desk,  and  removed 
the  picture.  She  imagined  that  the  tender  eyes  followed  her 
reproachfully  ;  and  her  powerful  imagination  almost  heard  the 
words  which  those  silent  lips  would  speak. 

Everything  tended  to  increase  her  depression.     Edith,  ob- 


238  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

serving  her  sister's  sadness,  had  been  unusually  kind.  She 
feared  that  Madge  was  not  well,  and  following  her  to  her 
room,  asked  if  she  could  do  anything  for  her.  Madge  was 
lying  on  the  bed,  with  her  face  buried  in  the  spread ;  her  sister 
bent  over  her  anxiously,  and  said,  "  Have  you  a  headache, 
dear  ?  Let  me  bathe  your  temples,"  and,  taking  some  cologne, 
she  gently  smoothed  back  her  hair,  and  bathed  the  forehead 
and  temples  of  the  suffering  girl.  Her  conscience  reproached 
her  bitterly  for  the  part  that  she  was  acting,  and  when  Edith 
stooped  over  to  kiss  her,  she  could  scarcely  refrain  from  throw- 
ing her  arms  around  her,  confessing  all,  and  giving  up  her 
dark  rebellion;  but  she  thought  of  Josephine's  sneers,  and  the 
evil  spirit  prevailed. 

"  I  am  not  sick,  Edith,  I  am  tired,"  said  Madge ;  "  if  you 
will  leave  me  alone,  I  shall  soon  feel  better." 

As  her  sister  turned  away,  sadly,  Madge  cast  one  sorrowful 
glance  towards  the  dear,  faithful  friend,  whom  she  might  never 
see  again.  All  Edith's  kindness  passed  in  solemn  review  before 
her ;  all  her  own  perverseness  and  ingratitude ;  and,  for  one 
moment,  her  resolution  failed :  but  stifling  the  thought  with  a 
strong  exercise  of  her  firm  will,  she  arose,  to  make  her  final 
preparations. 

"  The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard."  Madge  had  not  yet 
fully  learned  the  solemn  lesson.  She  looked  out  of  the  Avindow : 
it  was  a  dark,  cheerless  night ;  the  wind  whistled  sadly  around 
the  house,  and  a  fine,  drizzling  rain  added  to  the  gloom. 
Throwing  on  her  hat  and  cloak,  she  left  the  chamber.  She 
shuddered,  as  she  passed  hei  mother's  room.  It  was  very  late 
and  a  faint  light  burned  in  the  entry ;  the  house  was  silent  as 
the  grave.  Her  excited  imagination  quickened  every  sense. 
As  her  trembling  steps  moved  hastily  along,  she  thought  she 
heard  her  name, — "  Madge,  Madge."  She  started,  and  listened 
intently.  As  she  approached  the  staircase,  some  dry  branches 
struck  against  the  window :  it  sounded  drearily,  in  the  deep 
stillness.  Her  heart  beat  violently.  So  intense  were  her 
emotions,  that  she  thought  she  heard  her  name  again,  in  lower, 
deeper  tones,  "  Madge !  Madge !"  She  knew  that  it  was  but  an 


MISGUIDED   MADGE.  239 

imaginary  voice,  but  it  drove  her  hurriedly  down  the  staircase, 
to  a  small  side  door,  which  opened  ou  the  lawn.  She  seized 
the  key,  which  hung  near  the  door,  with  a  trembling  hand  un- 
locked it,  and,  in  a  minute,  found  herself  in  the  dark  woods. 
Her  guide  was  waiting  for  her,  at  the  stile,  and,  in  a  tumult  of 
bewildered'feeling,  she  flew,  rather  than  ran,  through  the  lonely 
iorest. 

The  trees  sighed,  and  the  wind  moaned  around  her  dismally. 
The  drizzling  rain  made  her  shiver  with  the  cold,  as  she  felt  as 
if  the  woods  were  peopled  with  evil  spirits,  whispering  and 
hissing  in  her  ears.  When  she  reached  the  Hall,  the  carriage 
was  in  waiting;  her  trunks  were  all  strapped  ready.  Josephine 
w-as  inside,  looking  for  her  anxiously.  Hurriedly,  she  slipped 
in,  and  her  first  salutation  was,  "Now,  Madge,  for  freedom  and 
for  fame !  No  more  tame,  sleepy  life,  among  the  old  oaks,  for 
us  ;  the  wide  world  is  before  us,  and  we  shall  make  ottj.  mark." 

There  was  still  too  much  of  the  passionate  nature  of  woman 
sleeping  in  that  young  heart,  to  be  much  comforted,  in  this  hour 
of  desertion,  by  these  vain,  boasting  words.  "  Out  on  the  wide 
Avilderness  of  the  world,"  thought  Madge,  and  the  thought 
oppressed  her.  She  quickly  took  her  seat  by  the  side  of 
Josephine,  who,  hearing  her  sigh  deeply,  as  she  took  her  last 
look  of  Ravenswood,  said,  "  Madge,  if  you  ever  expect  to  be  a 
great  woman,  you  must  learn  to  discipline  your  feelings.  You 
have  been  badly  treated  by  your  father,  and  I  do  not  see  why 
you  should  waste  a  thought  upon  pe»ple  who  do  not  appreciate 
your  fine  abilities." 

"  I  must  own,  Josephine,  that  my  heart  almost  misgave  me, 
as  I  passed  my  mother's  room.  I  could  not  but  remember  her 
early  teachings,  and  I  almost  fancied  that  I  heard  her  once 
more  calling,  'Madge,  Madge!'" 

"  You  must  get  over  these  childish  fancies,  Madge.  Your 
mother  was  a  good  sort  of  a  patient  nurse,  but  she  was  priest- 
ridden,  and  that  will  never  do  for  you." 

"Do  not  speak  so,  Josephine,"  answered  Madge.  "Mother 
had  some  week  prejudices,  but  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  her  spoken 
of  contemptuously." 


240  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  I  am  glad,  Madge,  that  you  have  escaped  from  Ralph 
Cameron.  I  have  often  thought  what  a  fool  you  were  to  allow 
him  to  dictate  to  you  about  your  conduct.  He  is  a  sweet  speci- 
men of  the  '  lords  of  creation.'  If  ever  he  marries,  his  wife 
will  be  ruled  with  a  high  hand,  mark  my  words." 

Madge  winced  somewhat  under  these  remarks,  for  feelings 
of  the  deepest  respect  were  still  maintained  for  the  young 
man;  and  she  could  not  but  think  with  pain  of  Ralph's  sor- 
row and  displeasure  at  her  last  daring  step.  Intending  to 
leave  for  a  distant  State,  they  pursued  their  journey  rapidly, 
and,  at  the  end  of  the  two  weeks,  had  reached  their  place  of 
destination. 

It  was  a  new  settlement,  where  numbers,  holding  the  same 
sentiments,  had  preceded  them.  They  were  received  in  a  flat- 
tering manner  by  the  head  of  the  institution,  especially  Madge, 
who  was  regarded  as  a  great  acquisition ;  coming,  as  she  did, 
from  the  midst  of  refined  ease  and  elegance.  Miss  Grimshawe, 
Josephine's  friend,  presided  at  the  head.  "  We  are  glad  to 
welcome  you  among  us,"  said  that  lady ;  "  you  have  acted 
nohly ;  few  would  have  had  the  strength  to  leave  such  a  home, 
surrounded  by  all  the  soft  attractions  of  wealth,  to  come  among 
us  struggling  disciples  of  a  new  faith ;  but  we  are  determined 
to  teach  men  that  we  are  their  equals.  We  shall  send  out  a 

stirring  trumpet  from  the  shades  of  N .  We  are  all  bound 

very  closely  together,  and  you  will  find  the  ties  of  a  common 
humanity  much  stronger  than  the  shackles  of  priestcraft.  We 
all  have  our  duties  to  perform:  you  may  teach,  for  in  our  com- 
munity we  have  a  number  of  children,  whom  we  wish  trained 
in  our  liberal  principles  ;  you  will  have  leisure  for  writing,  and 
will  make  yourself  famous,  yet." 

Madge  soon  found  herself  placed  in  a  novel  situation :  sur- 
rounded by  females  from  different  parts  of  the  Union,  fitting 
themselves  for  distinguished  posts,  when  the  day  for  the  eman- 
cipation of  woman  had  fully  come.  Some  were  studying  medi- 
cine, others  law,  political  economy,  &c.  In  order  to  prepare  for 
public  speaking,  they  gave  weekly  lectures,  which  were  open  to 
all  from  the  neighboring  towns. 


MISGUIDED   MADGE.  241 

The  vanity  of  Madge  Clifford  was  fully  gratified,  at  the 
admiration  excited  by  her  splendid  reading  of  Shakespeare. 
At  first,  when  appearing  before  a  promiscuous  multitude  of 
male  and  female,  her  woman's  heart  beat  wildly,  but  she  learned 
too  soon  to  strangle  these  feelings,  as  unworthy  weakness,  and 
was  rapidly  losing  the  soft  bloom  of  diffidence,  always  so  charm- 
ing in  a  young  female,  and  substituting  in  its  place  unwomanly 
confidence,  which  she  styled  self-possession. 

She  had  changed  her  name,  for  fear  of  detection,  and  Miss 
Crawford  was  rapidly  becoming  a  great  favorite.  Applause 
followed  all  her  efforts.  Her  articles  for  the  press  displayed 
remarkable  talent,  and  her  young  head  was  filled  with  vain 
imaginations.  But  could  she  be  happy  in  such  a  promiscuous 
family  ?  for  she  was  compelled  to  mingle,  daily,  with  women  of 
coarse  and  vulgar  manners,  who  seemed  to  think  the  polish  and 
refinement  to  which  she  had  always  been  accustomed,  as  quite 
unworthy  of  great  minds.  Unused  to  the  drudgery  of  teach- 
ing, and  not  impelled  by  any  high  motive,  she  found  it  a  weari- 
some occupation.  Her  woman's  heart  asked  for  love,  its 
natural  aliment,  and  here  she  received  none.  Feeding  only 
upon  the  ashes  of  an  unsanctified  ambition,  the  cravings  of  her 
moral  nature  were  all  unsatisfied. 

The  power  of  a  religious  character  hung  around  her  still. 
When  the  Sabbath  came,  with  its  holy  associations,  she  missed 
the  soothing  peace  of  her  home  at  Ravenswood.  When  the 
Bible  was  undervalued,  in  her  presence,  something  within 
shrank  from  the  daring  impiety,  and  the  blessed  segis  of  a 
mother's  prayers  and  influence  shielded  her  yet,  although 
unseen. 

Her  youth,  her  rank  and  talents,  all  bespoke  for  her  great 
admiration,  and  plaudits  were  heaped  upon  her  whenever  she 
appeared  in  public.  This  distinction  did  not  precisely  suit  her 
disinterested  friend,  Miss  Fortescue,  for  she  always  claimed 
pre-eminence  wherever  she  moved,  and  could  not,  and  would 
not,  tamely  take  a  second  place.  Madge  had  left  home  without 
money;  Josephine  had  assumed  all  the  expense  of  her  journey, 
and  regarding  herself  as  her  benefactress,  she  made  large 
16 


242  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

demands  upon  her  time,  her  talents,  and  her  service.  These 
exactions  became  daily  more  and  more  oppressive,  and  Madge 
began  to  think  that  the  picture  of  independence,  which  she 
had  so  brightly  colored  in  the  future,  on  nearer  approach,  was 
overcast  with  dark  and  dismal  shadows. 

We  will  take  an  extract  from  her  journal,  after  an  absence 
of  six  weeks  from  her  home : 

"  Escaped,  at  last,  from  thraldom,  I  am  now  free  to  pursue 
my  own  plans.  In  the  future,  I  see  a  bright  temple  of  fame, 
to  which  I  am  hastening.  Let  commonplace  women  seek  their 
happiness  in  the  tame  retirement  of  home,  in  subjection  to  the 
tyrant,  man ;  but  give  me  freedom,  to  expand  my  intellect,  to 
exercise  my  talents,  and  to  win  a  name,  that  will  go  down  to 
posterity.  When  I  have  reached  the  summit  of  my  hopes.  I 
will  gather  around  me  the  choice  spirits  of  the  world,  who  will 
come  to  worship  at  the  shrine  of  their  young  priestess." 

"But  it  is  hard  to  shake  off  the  trammels  of  early  education. 
I  cannot  go  to  bed  without  my  evening  prayer;  I  cannot  rise. 
in  the  morning  without  some  thoughts  connected  with  my  earl;, 
home.  When  the  Sabbath  conies,  unconsciously  I  sigh  for  its 
sweet  peace,  although  I  am  ashamed  to  let  it  be  seen  how 
powerful  are  these  longings.  What  often  appeared  to  me  so 
tedious,  when  under  the  rules  of  my  home,  now  returns  to  me, 
in  sweet  contrast  to  the  utter  disregard  of  all  sacred  obligations. 
Which  can  be  right? 

"  Wednesday  evening. — I  gave  my  first  reading  of  Othello,  to- 
night. When  appearing,  for  the  first  time,  before  a  promiscu- 
ous audience,  for  a  few  minutes  my  heart  beat  wildly  and  my 
brain  swam  ;  but  summoning  resolution,  I  commenced,  and  as  I 
became  interested,  I  forgot  the  assembly,  and  the  warm 
applause  almost  intoxicated  me.  I  returned  home,  fully  repaid 
for  the  effort.  What  would  Edith  say  ?  What  would  Ralph 
think?  Josephine  did  not  appear  much  delighted  with  my 
success. 

"Friday. — I  wish  that  I  could  discharge  my  debt  to  Joseph- 
ine; she  seems  to  think  that  I  can  never  repay  the  obligation 
which  I  owe  to  ter.  From  early  in  the  morning  until  late  at 


MISGUIDED   MADGE,  243 

night  she  is  calling  upon  me  to  perform  countless  services,  that 
wear  upon  me  so  heavily,  that  I  find  I  have  but  exchanged 
natural  subjection  to  those  whom  I  ought  to  love  and  rever- 
ence, for  assumed  servitude  to  one  who  has  no  claims  upon  me 
but  such  as  I  have  made  for  myself.  Am  I  in  the  path  of 
duty  ?  O,  how  dark  all  seems  around  me !  I  fear  that  I  can 
never  come  up  to  Josephine's  ideas  of  a  strong-minded  woman. 
My  heart  is  craving  for  love,  and  there  is  none  around  me ;  the 
atmosphere  is  filled  with  icebergs,  which  freeze  my  very  heart. 
The  women  are  made  of  steel,  sharp,  hard,  repelling.  No 
Sabbath,  no  fireside,  no  Bible,  no  God.  Can  I  be  happy  with- 
out these?  Will  fame, — for  I  enjoy  it, — compensate  for  these 
privations?  Can  I  live  without  the  sunlight  of  affection? 

"Sunday  evening. — I  stole  away  this  evening  to  church. 
Josephine  did  not  know  it ;  but  how  different  the  services  all 
appeared  to  me !  At  home,  how  listless,  how  inattentive,  I 
used  to  be!  How  often  I  neglected  these  holy  privileges? 
To-night,  they  came  over  my  spirit  with  a  sweet,  subduing 
power ;  they  brought  back  home,  mother,  sisters,  friends.  But 
I  fear  that  I  have  greatly  offended  God.  I  fear  that  I  have 
wandered  too  far  from  the  paths  of  holiness  ever  to  be  re- 
claimed." 

After  an  absence  of  six  months,  we  find  the  following  ex- 
tract : 

"  Tuesday. — Disinterested  benevolence!  I  have  heard  a  great 
deal  of  it  among  these  dreamers,  but  when  they  are  planning 
any  great  work,  all  appear  to  vie  with  each  other  in  having  the 
pre-eminence :  all  are  watching  the  papers,  greedily  devouring 
all  that  is  said  of  their  great  performances.  How  different 
from  my  ideas  of  disinterested  benevolence !  '  Let  every  one 
please  his  neighbor  for  his  good  to  edification.'  '  Look  not 
every  man  on  his  own  things,  but  on  the  things  of  others.' 
'  For  even  Christ  pleased  not  himself.'  How  different  these 
holy,  unselfish  precepts  of  Christianity,  from  the  chimeras  of 
self-styled  philanthropists ! 

"Thursday. — Last  night,  I  passed  a  house  where  I  heard  a 
lady  playing  one  of  Edith's  beautiful  songs.  I  listened.  My 


244  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

heart  was  bursting.  Shall  I  ever  see  my  sister  again  ?  0,  what 
a  poor  mistaken  dreamer  I  have  been !  There  is  nothing  here 
to  satisfy  me.  How  can  I  go  home?  I  have  no  money. 
Josephine  would  ridicule  me;  she  will  not  help  me.  What 
shall  I  do?  I  will  seek  the  good  pastor  of  the  village  church. 

"Friday, — I  have  seen  Mr.  Harper.  O,  how  kind  he  was ! 
He  reminded  me  of  dear  Mr.  Berkely.  I  told  him  my  whole 
story.  He  sympathized  with  me,  and  gave  me  much  Christian 
council.  He  advised  me  to  go  home.  How  can  I  ever  reach 
there  ?  I  have  no  means  ;  perhaps  he  can  tell  me  how  to  earn 
some.  O  Kalph !  where  are  you  now  ?  I  wait,  I  wait  for  you. 

"  Sunday  evening. — Mr.  Harper  invites  me  to  his  house ; 
promises  to  interest  himself  to  obtain  some  pupils  for  me,  by 
which  I  can  obtain  money  enough  to  take  me  home.  But  how 
shall  I  tell  Josephine?  It  must  be  done  to-night.  I  can 
endure  this  life  no  longer. 

"Monday  evening. — I  have  performed  the  dreadful  task. 
Josephine  was  not  surprised ;  as  she  says  that  she  has  long  seen 
that  I  am  in  no  way  fitted  for  her  high  vocation.  She  treated  me 
with  profound  contempt,  and  told  me  that  I  need  expect  no 
help  from  her.  I  would  not  take  it.  She  has  been  most  unkind 
and  selfish,  with  all  her  boasted  philanthropy.  I  have  seen  it 
only  in  public  speeches  and  boasting  articles  in  the  press  ;  but 
for  private,  gentle,  unobtrusive  acts  I  have  looked  and  watched 
in  vain.  How  different  from  the  teachings  of  our  blessed 
Saviour !  I  have  incurred  the  contempt  of  the  whole  institu- 
tion !  Well,  be  it  so ;  I  have  escaped  from  their  influence,  and 
I  am  willing  to  bear  it." 

Madge  soon  found  herself  at  home,  under  the  hospitable 
roof  of  good  Mr.  Harper.  With  real  Christian  sympathy,  he 
obtained  employment  for  her  in  the  families  of  two  of  his 
parishioners,  and  she  commenced  her  labors  with  feelings  of 
heartfelt  gratitude ;  but  in  a  short  time,  so  great  had  been  her 
anxiety  and  fatigue,  that  symptoms  of  a  low,  wasting  fever 
appeared,  and  the  poor  girl  sank  under  accumulated  trials. 
The  pastor's  wife  was  kind  as  a  loving  mother ;  day  and  night 
she  was  unremitting  in  her  care  of  the  sad  young  stran^or, 


MISGUIDED   MADGE.  245 

whom  she  feared  would  pass  away,  far  from  home.  In  her 
wanderings,  Madge  rambled  about  Edith,  ar.d  Frank,  and 
Ralph  ;  the  names  of  her  family  circle  were  continually  on  her 
lips,  and  so  piteous  were  her  meanings,  that  Mrs.  Harper's 
most  tender  feelings  were  awakened  in  her  behalf.  They 
strongly  suspected  that  all  was  not  right,  but  in  the  present 
state  of  affairs  could  ascertain  nothing. 

We  will  leave  her  for  awhile,  and  retrace  our  steps  to  her 
astounded  household,  on  the  next  morning  after  her  departure. 
When  the  time  for  worship  arrived,  Madge  did  not  appear; 
but  that  was  not  unusual.  Breakfast  was  served,  but  still  no 
signs  of  the  young  girl.  Edith  sent  to  her  room  :  she  was  not 
there ;  the  bed  had  not  been  slept  in ;  her  wardrobe  and 
bureau  were  emptied.  On  her  dressing-table  lay  a  few  lines, 
addressed  to  her  sister : 

"  DEAR  EDITH, — I  can  endure  my  life  of  subjection  no 
longer.  I  go  to  seek  for  independence  and  for  fame.  You 
need  not  inquire  for  me.  I  shall  be  far  away,  in  a  very  short 
time.  May  you  be  happy !  You  will  not  miss  me  much,  for 
I  have  always  felt  as  if  I  were  one  alone,  and  not  welcome  in 
my  father's  house.  Your  sister, 

"  MADGE." 

With  a  blanched  cheek,  Edith  laid  the  note  before  her 
father.  He  read  it  carefully.  "She  will  repent  this  step, 
Edith,  mark  my  words.  She  was  always  a  perverse  and  strong- 
willed  child.  Perhaps  some  rough  contact  with  the  world  may 
do  her  good,  and  bring  her  to  her  senses." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  asked  Edith. 

"  Our  first  step  will  be  to  inquire  at  Oak  Hall,"  replied  her 
father ;  "  Josephine  has  something  to  do  with  this." 

Edith  immediately  walked  over  to  the  Hall.  On  inquiring 
for  Miss  Fortescue,  she  was  told  that  she  had  gone  on  a  long 
journey,  having  set  off  late  at  night,  and  taken  a  great  quan- 
tity of  baggage  with  her. 

"  Had  she  any  companion  ?"  asked  Edith. 


246  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"I  am  not  sure,"  replied  the  servant;  "but  I  think  that 
there  was  a  lady  in  the  carriage  with  her,  who  d,d  not  wish  to 
be  seen." 

"  Did  she  leave  any  message  ?" 

"  She  simply  said,  '  Tell  my  brother  that  I  may  be  gone  for 
many  years,'"  replied  the  man. 

When  Edith  saw  Gerald,  he  was  equally  surprised,  for  he 
had  not  the  least  idea  of  his  sister's  movements ;  but  both  con- 
cluded that  Madge  was  her  companion.  Inquiries  were  instantly 
set  on  foot,  but  they  had  taken  every  precaution  to  prevent 
discovery,  having  changed  their  names,  and  stopping  at  obscure 
hotels,  where  they  could  not  possibly  be  traced.  Edith,  in  her 
distress,  wrote  to  Ralph,  and  begged  his  co-operation  in  her 
endeavors  to  trace  the  poor  misguided  girl. 

He  came  instantly  to  Ravenswood,  and  although  at  first  dis- 
tressed, he  said,  "  Do  not  make  yourself  unhappy,  Miss  Clifford ; 
I  think  that  this  last  step  will  work  its  own  cure.  She  is  a 
young  enthusiastic  dreamer.  None  of  her  visions  will  be  real- 
ized. She  will  suffer  great  disappointments  when  brought  into 
close  contact  with  these  fanatics.  Finding  no  rest  for  the  sole 
of  her  foot  on  the  dreary  waters  on  which  she  has  embarked, 
like  Noah's  weary  dove,  she  will  be  driven  back  to  her  home, 
to  wander  no  more."  For  months  Ralph  was  busy  in  making 
all  the  inquiries  which  he  could  possibly  institute,  but  without 
success.  He  began  to  be  discouraged.  He  feared,  he  knew 
not  what.  Sickness,  desertion,  death,  passed  before  him  ;  but 
he  committed  her  daily  to  God,  and  looked  and  waited  for  an 
answer  of  peace.  In  his  business  transactions  he  frequently 
met  with  persons  from  abroad.  Dining  one  day  with  a  gentle- 
man from  the  far  distant  "West,  he  was  conversing  freely  about 
his  home. 

"By-the-way,  Mr.  Cameron,  there  is  a  singular  institution 
lately  started  among  us,  which  has  seriously  alarmed  the  sober- 
minded  of  our  village.  A  company  of  strong-minded  women 
have  established  an  institution  upon  the  principles  of  the 
Socialists,  where  they  educate  women  for  the  learned  profes- 
sions, and  children  in  their  own  ruinous  principles.  Within 


MISGUIDED   MADGE.  247 

the  last  few  months  there  has  been  a  very  interesting  young 
lady  added  to  the  establishment,  who  has  excited  great  atten- 
tion by  her  splendid  readings  of  Shakespeare,  and  by  articles 
contributed  to  the  press.  She  is  no  beauty,  but  such  eyes  I 
never  beheld;  they  are  luminous  with  the  fire  of  genius;  but 
there  is  that  about  her  which  has  convinced  all  who  have  seen  or 
heard  her,  that  she  was  never  intended  for  a  strong-minded 
woman.  A  graceful  gentle  step,  a  rich  musical  voice,  whose 
tones,  in  the  pathetic  characters  which  she  chooses,  thrills  the 
very  depths  of  the  soul.  There  is,  moreover,  a  refinement  in 
her  whole  air  and  appearance,  that  places  her  far  above  the 
coarse  spirits  by  which  she  is  surrounded." 

Ralph  listened  with  intense  interest,  and  said,  "  What  is  her 
name?" 

"  Margaret  Crawford,"  replied  the  stranger ;  "  though  we  are 
sometimes  inclined  to  think  that  is  not  her  true  name.  But, 
poor  girl,  hers  has  been  a  very  sad  lot.  She  was  disappointed, 
and  badly  treated  among  her  associates.  Her  spirits  sank,  and 
she  became  so  unhappy,  as  to  seek  a  refuge  in  the  house  of  our 
good  pastor,  Mr.  Harper.  Like  a  good  Samaritan,  he  interested 
himself,  and  obtained  some  pupils  for  her;  but  when  I  left 
P ,  under  her  heavy  trials,  she  had  sunk  into  a  low,  ner- 
vous fever,  and  was  dangerously  ill.  Forsaken  entirely  by 
the  philanthropists,  the  good  pastor  and  his  excellent  wife  were 
as  kind  to  her  as  her  own  parents  ;  but  when  I  left,  it  was  feared 
that  she  would  never  rally." 

Ralph  bowed  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and  on  asking  a 
minute  description  of  her  person,  he  was  nearly  certain  that 
the  suffering  young  stranger  was  their  long-lost  Madge. 


CHAPTER   XX. 


COMING    OUT. 

YES!   dear  father,   that  will  be  charming!" 
said    Blanche,    as-  she    laid    her    soft    cheek 
caressingly   against    her  father's   face.      "We'll 
have    our    coming    out   ball  on    our    eighteenth 
birthday ;   that    will  be  next    month ;    shall   we 
not,  dear  father?" 

"We'll    see,   my   dear:    but    what  will   Sister 
Edith  say?"  answered  her  father. 

"  O,  we  know  that  she  will  not  approve  of  it ;  but  then  she 
is  a  member  of  church,  and  we  are  not.  Just  let  us  have  this ; 
she  won't  oppose  you,  father,  for  sister  is  too  respectful  and 
obedient  for  that.  Now,  if  you  will  only  consent,  I  promise  to 
read  the  papers  for  you,  to  copy  your  writing,  and  to  play 
chess  all  the  winter  evenings  with  you. 

"  You  know  how  to  bewitch  father,  Blanche.  I  suppose  it 
will  have  to  be  so ;  but  you  must  let  me  have  something  to  say 
about  your  drees  for  the  occasion,  as  I  have  a  surprise  in  store 
for  you." 

"  You  may  have  the  whole  choice,  father,  only  give  your 
consent  for  the  ball." 

"  Well,  then,  you  may  send  out  your  invitations ;  and  tell 

me  what  you  want ;"  and  away  flew  Blanche  to  seek  Adele. 

Throwing  her  arms  around  her  sister,  she  exclaimed   in  an 

ecstacy,  "  Only  think,  Adele,  we  are  to  have  a  coming  out 

248 


COMING   OUT.  249 

ball  on  our  eighteenth  birthday.  We'll  have  1/ie  two  parlors 
and  conservatory  thrown  into  one  room  ;  the  library  aud 
dining-room  will  be  fitted  up  for  the  supper;  father's  room 
for  the  gentlemen's  dressing-room,  and  the  blue  room  for  the 
ladies.  We  are  to  have  hired  music,  and  waiters  from 
New  York.  We'll  have  some  colored  lamps  on  the  trees  in 
the  avenue  and  out  in  the  garden.  The  boats  will  be  nicely 
prepared  for  the  evening,  for  the  weather  will  be  pleasant 
enough  in  September  to  wander  about  the  grounds  or  to 
sail  upon  the  river.  Then  we'll  invite  the  neighboring 
gentry,  the  Lindsays,  the  Irviues,  the  Scotts,  the  Arlingtons, 
and  all  our  New  York  friends.  Won't  we  have  a  nice  time, 
Dellie?" 

Adele,  though  so  full  of  life  and  animation,  was  much  more 
thoughtful  than  Blanche,  and  she  stood  awhile  wondering 
what  dear  mother  would  have  said  to  the  entertainment ;  then, 
being  really  affectionate,  she  did  not  feel  quite  comfortable  in 
taking  part  in  anything  so  much  opposed  to  the  wishes  of 
Sister  Edith,  who  was  really  the  acknowledged  mistress  of 
the  family. 

"I  think,  Blanche,  before  we  lay  our  plans,  we  had  better 
ask  Edith's  advice,"  at  length  said  Adele. 

"  Well,  if  we  do,  all  our  pleasure  will  be  overthrown ;  she'll 
never  consent,"  said  Blanche,  pouting. 

"  Let  us  go  and  ask  her,"  said  Adele.  Hurrying  off  to 
Edith's  room,  they  knocked  at  her  door. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  said  the  voice  within. 

"  'Tis  Blanche  and  Adele,"  said  the  latter :  "  we  have  some- 
thing very  important  to  ask." 

Edith  opened  the  door,  and  bade  them  enter.  Seeing 
their  eager  look,  she  smilingly  said,  "  What  mighty  request 
have  you  to  make?  I  sfe  an  imploring  look  on  both  your 
faces." 

"Well,  sister,"  said  Blanche,  as  she  threw  her  arm  ca- 
ressingly around  Edith,  "you  see  we  are  young  ladies  now; 
we  shall  be  eighteen  next  month,  and  father  thinks  that  we 
ought  to  take  our  place  in  society.  He  has  consented  that 


250  EDITH'S   MINISTRY. 

we  should  give  a  ball  on  that  night,  and  we  have  come  to 
ask  your  consent.  You  won't  refuse  us,  will  you,  sister 
dear?" 

Edith  looked  gravely  on  her  beautiful  sister,  and  did  not 
wonder  that,  with  all  her  attractions,  she  should  wish  to 
mingle  with  the  amusements  of  the  gay  world ;  but  she  re- 
plied, "  You  know  my  views,  my  dear  sisters,  about  these 
frivolities.  I  have  renounced  them  all,  and  I  have  no  taste 
for  them;  but  for  you,  I  have  no  right  to  exercise  authority, 
— I  simply  give  advice.  You  will  find  these  vain  things  but 
hollow  mockery  of  real  happiness.  I  fear  these  fascinations 
for  you  both,  and  would  bid  you  look  higher  for  your  enjoy- 
ments than  to  the  giddy  scenes  of  a  ball-room.  But  this  is 
my  father's  house :  he  has  a  right  to  say  what  shall  be  done 
here.  If  he  has  given  his  consent,  I  have  no  more  to  say, 
only  this, — and  she  encircled  each  sweet  girl  with  either  arm, 
— I  hope,  my  dear  girls,  that  you  will  not  allow  these  silken 
fetters  of  pleasure  to  entangle  the  feet  that  ought  to  be  walk- 
ing heavenward." 

These  affectionate  words,  dropped  so  lovingly  and  wisely  by 
the  wayside,  fell  like  gentle  dew  upon  the  young  beings  whom 
she  so  fondly  loved,  and  left  an  impression  far  more  powerful 
than  all  the  sharp  repoofs  and  bitter  denunciations  of  a  harsh, 
censorious  spirit. 

In  her  perplexity,  Edith  went  to  Miss  Arnold.  "  What 
ought  I  to  do,  my  friend  ?"  said  Edith.  "  Should  I  say  that  I 
will  not  consent  to  this  ball  ?" 

"  I  would  not  advise  you  to  do  so,  my  child,"  replied  Miss 
Arnold,  "for  this  is  your  father's  house;  he  has  entire  con- 
trol of  it,  and  has  a  right  to  say  what  shall  be  done  here. 
Exert  your  influence  to  lead  your  sisters  to  higher  pursuits ; 
but  if  this  ball  is  to  take  place,  be  courteous  to  your  sisters' 
guests ;  and  though  you  do  not  join  in  the  frivolous  pleasures 
of  the  evening,  you  may  watch  over  them,  keep  them  from  im- 
proprieties, and  hope  for  better  things. 

Blanche  reported  matters  as  they  really  stood  to  her 
father,  and  the  ball  was  agreed  upon  On  the  evening  of 


COMING   OUT.  251 

the  same  day,  the  twins  were  seated  on  the  piazza,  discuss- 
ing, in  an  animated  manner,  their  intended  pleasure.  Sud- 
denly Adele  raised  her  eyes.  "  Look  there,  Blanche !  I  do 
declare,  there  comes  the  old  gig !  What  shall  we  do  with 
Aunt  Priscilla  ?  Of  all  people  in  the  world,  she  is  the  least 
welcome." 

"  Sure  enough,  Adele,"  answered  Blanche,  "  here  comes  the 
old  lady,  with  Snip,  and  Uncle  Toby,  and  Poll,  as  I  live! 
What  shall  we  do  with  her  on  the  night  of  the  ball  ?" 

"  I  don't  believe  that  she  will  show  herself  on  that  occasion, 
for  you  know  that  she  thinks  balls  very  wicked,"  replied 
Adele. 

"  Yes,  I  know  that ;  but  her  curiosity  is  boundless,  and,  mark 
my  words,  she'll  be  there,"  answered  Blanche. 

By  this  time  she  had  reached  the  piazza.  "  Well,  girls,  how 
do  you  do !  It's  been  a  long  time  since  I  seed  you.  How's  our 
Edith  ?" 

From  respect  to  their  father,  they  received  her  politely,  and 
aided  her  to  dismount.  In  a  few  days  the  old  lady  observed 
the  preparations  for  the  expected  ball. 

"Well,  deary  me,  Edith,  the  dead  are  soon  forgotten,"  said 
the  old  lady.  "  Who  would  have  believed  that  Mary  Clifford's 
daughters  would  have  spent  their  time  in  such  a  vain,  ungodly 
way  ?" 

"  I  could  not  help  it, dear  aunt,"  replied  Edith  ;  "they  know 
my  feelings  ;  but  father  thinks  that  they  ought  to  be  indulged." 

The  old  lady  bemoaned  the  folly,  taking  heavy  pinches  of 
snuff  for  a  long  time;  and  at  last,  bidding  Edith  good-night, 
dismissed  her  from  her  room.  The  twins  were  busily  occupied 
in  making  their  preparations  for  two  weeks  before  the  eventful 
evening.  Edith  was  surprised  to  see  the  interest  which  Gerald 
appeared  to  take  in  all  the  arrangements.  He  was  in  the  habit 
of  coming  up  to  Oak  Hall  always  on  Saturday,  staying  until 
Monday  ;  now,  in  order  to  aid  the  young  girls,  on  the  week 
before  the  ball  he  came  on  Friday,  and  was  busily  occupied  in 
making  rich  wreaths  of  laurel,  which  were  to  be  mixed  with 
flowers  on  the  day  of  the  ball,  and  hung  in  festoons  around  the 


252  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

rooms.  There  was  a  great  abundance  of  early  fall  flowers  in 
the  garden  and  conservatory,  and  the  young  girls  drew  largely 
upon  their  luxuriant  profusion.  Edith  could  have  wished  all 
this  energy  to  have  been  better  directed,  for  she  knew  that  dis- 
appointment waits  on  all  merely  earthly  pleasures ;  but  while 
she  felt  no  interest  in  these  scenes  of  gayety,  she  considered  it 
a  duty  to  see  that  all  was  properly  prepared  for  her  sisters' 
guests,  knowing  that  a  sullen,  gloomy  face  of  disapproval, 
might  disgust  them  with  her  views  of  duty.  At  length  the 
day  arrived.  Gerald  had  been  busy,  for  two  days  previous,  in 
hanging  the  festoons,  and  lending  his  exquisite  taste  to  the  decora- 
tions. Edith  admired  the  beauty  of  the  rooms,  but  was 
rendered  uncomfortable  by  the  entire  engrossing  of  Gerald's 
time,  in  his  devotion  to  Blanche's  orders  and  counter-orders, 
running  to  bring  flowers,  mounting  high  ladders,  and  almost 
risking  his  neck  in  his  efforts  to  oblige  the  whimsical  young 
lady. 

The  birthnight  was  a  bright  moonlight  evening,  in  the  middle 
of  September.  Blanche  and  Adele  had  been  all  day  on  the 
tiptoe  of  expectation,  and  when  they  presented  themselves 
before  their  sister,  attired  for  the  ball,  Edith  thought  that  she 
had  never  looked  on  anything  half  so  lovely  as  the  beautiful 
creatures  who  glided  into  the  room,  ere  descending  to  the  parlor. 
Both  were  dressed  in  soft,  silver  muslin,  which  their  father  had 
imported  especially  for  them.  The  material  was  very  fine  and 
thin,  hung  in  graceful  folds  around  the  perfect  form  of  Blanche 
Clifford.  She  wore  pearl  ornaments,  and  a  wreath  of  fresh 
rose-buds  adorned  her  hair.  The  gossamer  robe  was  particu- 
larly adapted  to  her  delicate  beauty,  and  she  glided  about  the 
room  like  something  purely  spiritual.  Adele  was  dressed  in  the 
same  manner,  with  the  exception  of  her  ornaments,  which  were 
rubies  instead  of  pearls,  and  scarlet  geranium  instead  of  rose- 
buds, which  peculiarly  suited  her  rich  olive  complexion  and 
bright  black  eyes. 

When  Gerald  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  escort  Blanche 
into  the  room,  for  a  moment  he  seemed  bewildered  by  the  beauti- 
ful vision,  and  conducted  her  in  silent  admiration  to  the  head 


COMING   OUT.  253 

of  the  room,  where  she  was  to  receive  her  guests.  So  much  was  he 
engrossed  by  the  contemplation  of  her  beauty,  that  he  had 
nearly  forgotten  his  duty  to  Edith,  who  was  expecting  him  at 
the  head  of  the  staircase.  Suddenly  remembering  how  long  he 
had  kept  her  waiting,  he  excused  himself;  and  a  shade,  very 
much  resembling  disappointment,  passed  over  his  face  as  he 
saw  the  pale,  dignified  figure,  clad  in  a  robe  of  plain  India 
muslin,  with  a  few  natural  white  flowers  in  her  raven  tresses, 
and  who  greeted  him  with  a  cold  and  freezing  manner,  while 
she  extended  the  tip  of  her  gloved  fingers,  barely  touching  his 
arm.  He  could  not  but  contrast  her  with  the  glowing,  be- 
witching creature  whom  he  had  just  left,  and  sighed — for 
what  ? 

The  scene  was  one  of  enchantment.  The  flowers,  the  daz- 
zling lights,  the  youth  and  beauty  there  assembled,  were  all 
bewildering.  No  wonder  that  the  young  creature  who  burst 
upon  the  world  for  the  first  time,  in  all  her  youthful  loveliness, 
should  have  been  intoxicated.  She  could  not  but  be  aware  of 
the  expressions  of  admiration  whispered  all  around  her.  The 
centre  of  all  eyes,  her  hand  was  sought  in  every  dance  by  eager 
aspirants  for  the  honor;  and  Edith,  observing  that  several 
young  ladies  were  joining  in  the  waltz,  whispered  to  her  sister, 
"  Do  not  waltz  with  gentlemen  ;  your  father  disapproves  of  it, 
and  dear  mother  has  often  expressed  her  aversion." 

"  You  need  not  fear,"  answered  Adele,  "  I  would  not,  under 
any  consideration,  so  far  forget  my  dignity."  Just  then  a  very 
fashionable-looking  young  gentleman  advanced  to  Blanche, 
and  before  Edith  could  utter  another  word  of  warning,  she  was 
whirling  around  the  room,  encircled  by  the  arm  of  an  entire 
stranger. 

Early  in  the  evening,  as  the  company  were  assembling,  what 
was  the  astonishment  of  the  sisters  to  see  Aunt  Priscilla  enter- 
ing the  room,  attired  in  the  drab-colored  wedding-dress  which 
she  had  so  often  described,  made  in  the  fashion  of  i'orty  years 
ago,  narrow  skirt,  short-waisted,  and  standing  alone.  She  wore 
also  a  very  full  white  muslin  apro.i,  which  was  formerly  consid- 
ered an  important  appendage  to  full  dress;  the  sleeved  were 


254  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

short,  and  on  her  thin  arms  were  drawn  long  white  silk  mitts ; 
her  cap  was  of  the  usual  kind,  high-crowned,  and  decorated 
with  a  profusion  of  yellow  ribbon ;  high-heeled  slippers,  and  a 
very  large  old-fashioned  fan  completed  her  custom.  We  had 
almost  forgotten  a  large  bunch  of  flowers,  which  she  always 
wore  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress  on  grand  occasions.  Her  curi- 
osity had  overcome  her  scruples,  and  she  walked  about  the 
rooms  scanning  the  dresses,  throwing  up  her  eyes  and  hands  in 
mute  astonishment;  but  on  coming  near  a  very  fashionably 
dressed  lady,  she  exclaimed,  "  Goody  gracious !  Did  I  ever 
see  sich  hoops !  They're  squeezin'  me  on  every  side." 

Passing  near  a  lady  whose  neck  was  very  much  exposed,  she 
said,  loud  enough  to  be  heard,  "  Edith,  do  go  speak  to  that 
young  woman  ;  she's  forgotten  to  dress  herself.  I  wonder  how 
her  mother  could  let  her  come  in  such  a  trim  ?  I  raly  believe 
she's  got  no  shoulder-straps  on  at  all."  Finding  that  her  niece 
did  not  notice  her  remark,  before  Edith  could  interfere  she  ran 
after  her,  and  throwing  a  large  pocket  handkerchief  over  her 
neck  said,  "  Young  woman,  as  there  are  so  many  men  in  the 
room,  I  guess  you'd  better  kiver  up  your  neck  ;  you  look  scan- 
dalous." The  offended  belle  threw  the  handkerchief  angrily 
upon  the  floor,  and  made  her  way  into  a  distant  part  of  another 
room. 

Passing  by  another,  whose  dress  was  very  conspicuous,  Aunt 
Priscilla  stood  close  to  her,  and  deliberately  placing  her  specta- 
cles over  her  nose,  eyed  the  young  lady  from  head  to  foot,  and 
taking  her  dress  in  her  hand,  she  said,  "  Well,  sure,  this  must 
have  cost  a  heap  of  money."  Taking  the  arm  of  her  com- 
panion, the  astonished  young  lady  moved  off  in  high  displea- 
sure. 

When  the  dancing  commenced,  Aunt  Priscilla  was  horrified. 
With  eyes  thrown  up,  and  uplifted  hands,  she  sat  rocking  to 
and  fro  and  taking  large  pinches  of  snuff,  as  was  her  custom 
when  under  deep  exercise  of  mind. 

"Why,  Edith,  dear,  they're  jist  all  the  world  like  a  set  of 
mountebanks;  I  never  seed  sich  behavior  in  my  horn  i^-rt 
When  I  was  a  young  gal,  and  Jedediah  came  a  coin-tin'  ..i  -,  'no. 


COMING   OUT.  255 

always  sot  on  one  side  of  the  fire-place,  and  me  on  t'other:  he 
never  corned  any  nigher;  but  jist  look  at  those  gals!  Old 
woman  as  I  am,  I'm  a'most  ashamed  to  set  in  the  same  room. 
And  there's  Blanche!  Who  is  that  man  with  his  arm  around 
her  waist,  spinning  her  round  for  all  the  world  jist  like  a  top?" 

"  Why,  aunty,  this  it  all  contrary  to  rny  desire.  I  am  just 
looking  for  Blanche,  and  I  shall  use  my  influence  to  stop  it." 
Coming  again  in  sight  of  her  sister,  she  encountered  Gerald, 
regarding  Blanche  with  an  unusual  expression  of  anger  upon 
his  countenance. 

"Edith,  can  you  bear  that?"  said  Gerald,  greatly  excited. 
"  It  is  too  much  to  see  that  lovely  creature  waltzing  with  that 
young  libertine." 

"This  is  just  what  I  wish  to  say  to  you,  Gerald;  can't  you 
contrive  to  speak  to  Blanche  ?" 

"I  shall  remain  near  her,  and  will  use  all  my  influence, — 
that  is,  if  I  have  any." 

Edith  hurried  away  with  a  heavy  weight  upon  her  heart ; 
and  why  ? 

Exhausted  by  her  exertions,  Blanche  threw  herself  upon  a 
lounge  near  Gerald,  who,  walking  hastily  towards  her,  took 
her  arm  and  begged  her  to  walk  with  him.  Conveying  her  to 
a  small  side-room,  greatly  excited,  he  said,  "  Blanche,  do  not 
waltz;  I  can't  bear  it;  or  rather,"  changing  his  tone, 
"  your  sister  requests  it.  It  is  not  proper  for  such  a  young  girl 
to  waltz  with  a  stranger." 

"  Well,  then,  I  promise  you  not  to  waltz  again ;  but  why 
don't  you  dance,  Gerald  ?"  answered  Blanche. 

"  Because  I  never  learned,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"Well,  can't  I  teach  you?"  said  Blanche,  with  the  most 
bewitching  smile.  "  You  have  only  to  walk  two  or  three  times 
with  the  set,  and  you  will  know  all  about  it.  Won't  you  stand 
up  with  me  in  the  next  set?  If  you  don't,  I'll  waltz,  Gerald," 
said  Blanche,  archly,  shaking  her  little  fan.  To  prevent  such 
a  thing  Gerald  consented ;  and  what  was  Edith's  surprise  to  see 
him  with  the  giddy  dancers,  and  following  the  movements  of 
Blanche  as  if  entirely  bewildered  Wherever  Blanche  moved, 


256  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Gerald  was  near,  and  seemed  for  awhile  tc  have  forgotten  that 
there  was  such  a  person  in  the  room  as  Edith,  until  the  march 
struck  up  for  supper,  when  he  hastily  sought  for  her,  and 
presenting  her  his  arm,  conveyed  her  in  silence  to  the  supper- 
table. 

Meanwhile,  Aunt  Priscilla  had  excited  much  laughter  among 
the  fashionable  guests.  Her  singular  costume,  eccentric  man- 
ners and  odd  expression  mortified  her  nieces  not  a  little ;  and 
Edith  was  pained  when  she  heard  the  following  conversation. 
Miss  Lindsay,  running  up  to  Blanche,  said  :  "  Who  is  that  old 
quiz  going  about  the  room  shaking  her  bony  finger  at  the  com- 
pany?" 

"  O,  she  is  an  old  woman  who  comes  to  see  us  sometimes. 
She  used  to  nurse  my  father  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  and 
thinks  herself,  on  that  account,  a  privileged  character ;  but  I 
did  not  dream  that  she  would  push  herself  in  among  us  to- 
night." 

Her  sister  was  grieved  at  this  fresh  manifestation  of  Blanche's 
weakness,  in  denying  the  relationship  of  her  good,  though 
odd,  old  relative. 

When  asked,  by  one  of  the  guests,  who  she  was,  Edith 
replied,  "  This  is  a  very  eccentric  old  aunt  of  ours,  whom  we 
respect  for  her  real  worth,  though  she  does  sometimes  annoy 
us  by  her  oddities." 

Tired  of  the  scene,  Aunt  Priscilla  went  up  to  Edith  and 
said,  "  My  dear,  you'll  have  to  excuse  me  now ;  Snip  is  not 
very  well.  I  must  go  give  him  some  medicine.  I  should  like 
to  give  you  some  more  of  my  company,  but  I  can't."  And  by 
ten  o'clock  the  old  lady  disappeared,  shaking  her  head  and 
taking  extra  pinches  of  snuif,  in  disapproval  of  the  whole 
scene. 

After  supper,  pleading  a  bad  headache,  Edith  retired  to  her 
room,  to  commune  with  her  own  heart  ere  she  sought  her  couch. 
She  reviewed  all  the  events  of  the  evening,  and  was  greatly 
disturbed  by  the  conduct  of  her  betrothed.  She  endeavored 
to  still  the  rising  disquietude  of  her  heart,  but  it  was  all  in 
vain ;  she  could  not  blind  herself  to  what  she  had  seen,  and 


COMING  OUT.  257 

prayed  for  guidance  in  the  path  of  duty.  She  mourned  over 
the  worldiness  of  the  scene,  for  her  sisters  had  been  completely 
intoxicated  with  admiration.  They  had  mingled,  she  feared, 
with  characters  whom  she  would  not  wish  for  their  intimates ; 
and  she  saw  before  her  path  hills  of  difficulty.  It  had  been  a 
trying  evening  to  Edith.  Madge,  wanderer  from  her  father's 
roof,  her  fate  unknown ;  Frank,  still  in  a  state  of  banishment : 
these  scenes  of  gayety  had  no  charms  for  her,  and  she  realized 
the  need  of  a  stronger  arm  and  more  sympathizing  heart  than 
could  be  found  in  mere  humanity.  She  found  it  all  in  her 
Redeemer.  She  retired  to  her  rest,  and  while  the  sounds  of 
music  were  prolonged 'late  in  the  night,  and  the  revellers  were 
still  unwilling  to  depart,  Edith's  last  thoughts  were  hopeful 
and  serene,  and  her  dreams  brought  back  the  loved  and  lost. 

After  she  left  the  room,  Gerald  yielded  himself  once  more 
to  the  fascinations  of  Blanche.  The  evening  was  mild  and 
balmy.  A  September  moon  illumined  the  landscape  and 
danced  upon  the  waters  of  the  Hudson,  inviting  those  fond  of 
the  amusement  to  an  excursion  on  the  river. 

"Come,  Blanche,"  said  Gerald,  "let  us  make  up  a  party 
for  the  river, — it  is  a  charming  evening  for  a  row ;  invite  some 
of  your  young  friends,  and  we'll  leave  the  warm  rooms  for  the 
cool  Hudson." 

Accordingly,  Blanche,  Adele,  and  several  others,  accom- 
panied Gerald  to  the  shore,  and  seating  themselves  gaily  in  the 
boat,  were  soon  pushed  off  into  the  river.  They  spent  an  hour 
delightfully,  rowing  about,  while  the  young  ladies  lent  enchant- 
ment to  the  scene,  by  the  melody  of  their  sweet  voices  floating 
on  the  midnight  air.  Blanche  was  greatly  excited,  and  Adele 
mischievously  amused  herself  by  rocking  the  boat  to  and  fro, 
to  the  great  terror  of  the  city  girls.  Blanche  was  somewhat 
alarmed,  for,  being  of  a  more  timid  nature  than  frolicsome 
Adele,  she  was  afraid  of  an  upset.  Seated  in  the  bow  of  the. 
boat,  Gerald  seemed  entirely  engrossed  in  endeavoring  to  quiet 
her  fears;  wholly  captivated  by  her  fascinations,  he  appeared 
quite  bewildered,  and  almost  forgot  the  relations  between  him- 
self and  Edith,  when  Blanche  suddenly  cried  out,  "  Oh !  Bro- 
17 


258  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

ther  Gerald,  do  stop  Adele;  she  will  upset  us  yet!"  This 
appellation,  which  she  often  used  in  addressing  the  young  man, 
sounded  unpleasantly  at  this  time,  and  he  began  to  take  his  heart 
to  task  for  the  feeling.  Withdrawing  himself  suddenly  from 
her  side,  he  took  his  seat  in  a  distant  part  of  the  boat,  and 
during  the  rest  of  the  excursion  was  moody  and  silent. 

Blanche,  taking  his  arm  when  they  landed,  said,  "  Why, 
Brother  Gerald,  what  is  the  matter?  What  makes  you  so 
cross  ?  Have  I  offended  you  ?" 

"  You  have,  not,  Blanche  ;  but  let  us  hurry  into  the  house  ; 
the  dew  is  falling,  and  you  may  catch  cold." 

When  the  bewilderment  of  the  evening  was  over,  and  Gerald 
found  himself  alone  in  his  room,  a  review  of  the  evening  was  by 
no  means  satisfactory.  Pie  saw  that  he  had  neglected  Edith, 
and  his  conscience  reproached  him  bitterly.  "But  who  could 
help  it,"  thought  he,  "  in  the  presence  of  such  a  bewitching 
creature  as  Blanche  Clifford  ?"  Certainly,  it  might  have  been 
answered,  "  Not  weak  Gerald  Fortescue."  But,  desiring  to 
pursue  an  honorable  course,  the  next  day  he  avoided  the  young 
girl,  was  particularly  kind  and  attentive  to  Edith,  and  on  tak- 
ing leave  of  her  for  New  York  with  the  same  old  tenderness  of 
former  years,  her  woman's  heart  was  satisfied,  and  she  banished 
her  jealous  fears  as  unworthy  of  her. 

The  reaction  of  the  next  day  after  the  ball  abundantly 
proved  the  unhealthy  nature  of  such  excitement;  for  neither 
Blanche  nor  Adele  could  settle  themselves  to  any  sober  occu- 
pation, but  after  sleeping  until  a  very  late  hour,  they  wan- 
dered about  from  room  to  room,  listless  and  yawning,  in  search 
of  some  new  excitement.  Blanche  Clifford  had  created  a  great 
sensation  in  her  first  appearance  in  the  gay  world.  All  were 
enraptured  with  her  beauty,  and  charmed  with  Adele's  spark- 
ling wit  and  vivacity.  Invitations  poured  in  upon  them.  Mr. 
Clifford  was  gratified,  and  encouraged  them  to  accept  all  from 
families  whom  he  approved.  ^** 

On  the  following  week,  an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Lindsay  to 
a  party  of  tableaux  perfectly  intoxicated  the  young  girls,  and 
for  several  days  they  were  busily  engaged  in  their  preparation.; 


COMING   OUT.  2-39 

for  the  evening.  Everything  was  arranged  in  perfection,  and 
great  enjoyment  was  anticipated.  Whea  the  party  had  as- 
sembled, the  folding-doors  were  thrown  open,  and  the  first  pic- 
ture that  presented  itself  was  "  Night  and  Morning."  Night 
was  represented  by  a  tall,  stately  girl,  with  a  pale  face,  and 
masses  of  rich,  dark  hair,  arrayed  in  a  black  robe,  spangled 
with  silver  star,  and  a  crescent  resting  upon  her  forehead ;  she 
stood  with  eyes  uplifted,  and  an  expression  of  melancholy 
thought  rested  upon  her  countenance.  Morning  was  perso- 
nated by  Blanche,  attired  in  a  thin,  gossamer  robe,  floating 
around  her  like  a  cloud ;  over  her  shoulders  was  suspended  a 
wreath  of  flowers,  and  her  beautiful  hair  was  gathered  in  a 
Grecian  knot,  from  which  hung  a  profusion  of  rich  curls, 
fastened  by  a  bunch  of  flowers,  whose  delicate  blossoms  hung 
gracefully  over  her  neck  and  shoulders.  She  stood  on  one  foot, 
leaning  forward,  as  though  about  to  take  flight,  while  in  her 
hands  she  carried  a  basket  of  flowers,  which  she  was  scattering 
over  the  earth. 

A  burst  of  admiration  greeted  this  beautiful  picture,  and 
Gerald  stood,  in  speechless  delight,  quite  abstracted  from  the 
company,  for  some  minutes  after  the  curtain  had  fallen.  Next 
came  a  gipsy  encampment,  in  which  Adele  represented,  very 
effectively,  a  gipsy  girl,  and  Blanche,  a  young  girl  having  her 
fortune  told  by  the  old  gipsy.  "  Taking  the  Veil,"  was  the 
subject  of  three  pictures :  Blanche,  in  the  first,  as  the  bride  of 
heaven,  was  again  the  chief  object  of  attraction ;  in  the  second, 
submitting  to  the  cutting  off"  of  her  beautiful  hair ;  and  in  the 
third,  laid  in  a  coffin,  she  represented  the  cloistered  nun,  dead 
to  the  world.  Her  beauty  was  the  theme  of  every  tongue,  and 
she  seemed  perfectly  intoxicated  by  the  flattery  which  she 
received.  Gerald's  love  of  the  beautiful  again  led  him  into 
the  sphere  of  her  attractions,  and  Blanche  was  pleased  to  re- 
ceive the  attention  of  such  a  distinguished,  interesting-looking 
person,  not  reflecting  how  her  sister  might  be  pained  by  her 
thoughtless  conduct. 

As  the  fall  advanced,  preparations  were  made  for  the  young 
girls'  promised  visit  to  New  York.  Edith  dreaded  the  tempta- 


260  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

tions  of  the  great  city,  but  her  father  was  determined,  and  she 
could  only  trust  and  pray.  She  was,  however,  made  more 
unhappy  than  she  chose  to  acknowledge  by  Gerald's  manifest 
admiration  of  Blanche ;  not  that  she  feared  his  truth  and 
honor,  for  she  was  too  noble  for  that, — but  she  was  troubled 
by  this  exhibition  of  the  power  which  beauty  held  over  her 
betrothed  husband. 

She  suffered  in  silence ;  for  she  was  by  nature  too  proud  to 
acknowledge  her  weakness.  Her  manner  towards  Blanche 
became  chilled,  and  to  Gerald,  sometimes  even  haughty.  A 
cloud  rested  upon  her  spirit;  communion  with  heaven  was  inter- 
rupted, and  the  wings  of  her  soul  were  borne  down  heavily  by 
these  weights  of  earthly  care  and  disappointment. 

When  Edith  saw  her  sisters  departing  for  New  York,  she 
could  only  commit  them  to  the  care  of  her  mother's  God,  for 
she  feared  that  they  would  be  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of 
folly.  She  had  observed  with  sorrow,  that  Gerald  daily  became 
more  remiss  in  his  religious  duties,  neglecting  the  communion 
of  the  saints,  and  conforming  more  and  more  to  the  gay  world; 
therefore  she  could  no  longer  look  to  him  for  Christian  influ- 
ence over  her  beloved  sisters. 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  trials,  her  heart  was  cheered  by 
good  news  from  Frank.  Ralph  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  a 
situation  for  him  as  clerk  in  a  bank,  and  determining  to  break 
off  from,  all  his  old  associates,  he  made  the  village  where  Mr. 
Berkely  lived  his  home ;  for  there  he  could  enjoy  the  society  of 
the  good  pastor  and  be  free  from  the  temptations  of  a  city  life. 
The  facility  of  communication  was  so  constant  that  he  could 
always  be  in  the  city  in  time  for  business.  Edith  constantly 
corresponded  with  her  brother,  and  blessed  God  for  the  serious 
tone  which  pervaded  his  letters ;  but  she  could  not  yet  urge  his 
return  home,  for  her  father's  mortification  was  still  too  keen  to 
venture  upon  the  subject.  On  Sunday  she  always  saw  Frank, 
for  he  was  constant  in  his  attendance  upon  the  sanctuary. 
One  Sunday,  after  service,  Mr.  Berkely,  with  a  smiling  aspect, 
summoned  Edith  to  the  vestry-room.  When  seated,  he  ad- 
dressed her  kiiidly,  saying,  "  My  dear  child,  I  think  that  I 


COMING   OUT.  261 

have  good  news  to  communicate ;  I  have  sanguine  hopes  of 
your  dear  brother,  Edith.  He  is  one  of  our  most  faithful 
worshippers  and  earnest  inquirers  after  truth.  The  good  seed 
sown  so  faithfully,  and  watched  so  prayerfully,  is  taking  root, 
and,  I  doubt  not,  will  bring  forth  fruit  to  perfection.  I  see 
the  blade,  I  look  for  the  ear,  and  then  the  full  corn  in  the  ear ; 
let  us  never  forget  to  pray,  my  child,  and  God  will  give  us  his 
blessing."  The  good  sister  listened  with  a  glistening  eye,  and 
with  a  full  heart  blessed  God  for  these  mercy  drops.  Anxious 
to  see  Frank,  she  accepted  the  pastor's  invitation  to  return 
with  him  to  dinner,  where  she  was  rejoiced  to  be  folded  once 
more  in  the  arms  of  her  cherished  brother. 

After  the  second  service,  the  brother  and  sister  walked  to 
the  old  churchyard  where  reposed  the  remains  of  their  mother. 
It  was  towards  evening  when  they  reached  the  spot.  Seated 
on  a  rustic  settee,  near  the  consecrated  grave,  Frank  said 
solemnly,  "  I  thought,  dear  sister,  that  this  was  a  fitting  place 
to  communicate  all  that  I  have  to  say."  Taking  Edith's 
hand,  which  he  held  fondly  in  his  own,  he  continued,  "  0  ! 
how  many  anxious  hours  have  I  caused  you,  dear  Edith. 
When  I  look  upon  the  past,  I  wonder  at  the  forbearance  of 
our  Heavenly  Father ;  how  have  I  provoked  him  to  leave 
me  to  myself !  But  your  prayers,  dear  sister,  have  prevailed 
at  last." 

Edith  listened  with  a  glowing  cheek  and  swimming  eyes,  as 
she  laid  her  head  upon  her  brother's  shoulder,  and  said,  "  Dear 
Frank,  our  mother's  prayers  are  answered  at  last." 

"You  know  not,  dear  Edith,  what  a  powerful  influence  your 
warnings  and  your  prayers  have  had  on  me.  When  cast  off 
so  harshly  by  my  father,  my  impetuous  nature  would  have 
hurried  me  on  to  ruin  ;  but  your  love,  your  faithful  fulfilment 
of  the  sister's  vow,  followed  me  everywhere.  I  felt,  while  that 
was  left  to  me,  I  was  not  wholly  forsaken.  I  really  believe 
the  remembrance  of  your  words,  on  the  night  when  I  was 
driven  from  the  stage,  came  upon  me  with  such  power,  tluit  it 
drove  all  other  recollections  from  my  mind,  and  caused  the 
failure  which  then  produced  such  anguish.  I  rushed  to  my 


262  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

room  in  an  agony  of  grief  and  mortification.  Locking  my 
door,  I  gazed  upon  my  mother's  picture.  Edith,  it  looked 
upon  me  so  lovingly  and  tenderly,  and  I  almost  fancied  that 
I  saw  it  smile  mournfully,  for  I  knew  how  she  would  have 
felt  in  the  hour  of  my  misery,  and  I  longed,  Edith,  for  one 
hour's  communion  with  the  sweet  spirit.  At  that  moment,  I 
felt  the  beauty  of  Cowper's  exquisite  lines : 

'"  Oh,  that  those  lips  had  language  !     Life  has  passed 
With  me  but  roughly,  since  I  heard  thee  last. 
Those  lips  are  thine — thy  own  sweet  smile  I  see, 
The  same,  that  oft  in  childhood  solaced  me; 
Voice  only  fails,  else  how  distinct  they  say, 
"  Grieve  not,  my  child  ;  chase  all  thy  fears  away !"  ' 

"In  that  hour  of  desertion,  the  scales  of  passion  and  error 
began  to  fall  from  my  eyes.  I  saw  what  a  precipice  I  had 
escaped  ;  and  all  that  I  desire  now  is,  that  I  may  become  a 
real  child  of  God.  Here,  by  our  mother's  grave,  will  you  pray 
that  I  may  be  led  in  the  way  everlasting  ?" 

Laying  her  hand  upon  her  brother's  head,  Edith  raised  her 
voice  in  earnest  supplication  to  a  throne  of  heavenly  grace. 

The  cool  breeze  sighed  mournfully  among  the  old  trees,  that 
bent  over  the  dead ;  and  when  Edith  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven, 
there  was  the  evening  star,  her  mother's  star,  shining  down 
upon  the  solemn  scene,  reminding  her  of  a  spirit  that,  in  the 
better  land,  rejoiced  with  the  angels  over  a  sinner  that  re- 
penteth.  Taking  leave  of  Frank,  with  feelings  too  deep  for 
utterance,  her  ride  home  was  cheered  by  the  thoughts  of  all 
that  he  had  heard,  and  she  thanked  God  for  the  grace  which 
had  enabled  her  to  keep  her  solemn  vow.  Here  were  some  of 
the  fruits  of  her  sacrifice ;  more  were  yet  in  store. 

But  Frank  was  not  so  happy.  He  had  concealed  one 
wrong,  misguided  step,  which  had  deeply  involved  the  hap- 
piness of  one  he  loved,  and  he  almost  feared  to  pain  Edith  by 
the  disclosure ;  but  the  longer  he  reflected,  the  more  clearly 
he  saw  his  duty,  and  at  last  wrote  the  following : 

"DEAREST    EDITH:    Since    our    interview,  I    have    been 


COMING   OJT.  263 

deeply  troubled  at  the  thought  of  one  wrong  act,  which  I 
concealed  from  you;  but  I  find  that  my  conscience  cannot 
be  appeased  but  by  a  full  disclosure.  You  know,  dear  sister, 
how  fondly  I  love  Eveleen  Austin,  and  how  devoted  she  has 
been,  through  my  darkest  days  of  trial  and  degradation. 
She  has  clung  to  me  through  all.  When  Ralph  obtained  my 
present  situation,  I  felt  that  I  had  a  right  to  ask  for  her 
hand.  I  sought  her  father.  He  rejected  my  suite  with 
scorn,  and  asked  how  I  dare,  a  clerk  in  a  bank,  aspire  to 
the  hand  of  his  daughter?  I  answered,  proudly,  that  I  was 
his  equal  now,  for,  by  the  labor  of  my  own  hands,  I  was 
ready  and  able  to  support  Eveleen,  not  in  affluence,  but  in 
comfort,  and  we  wanted  no  more.  But,  sister,  he  scorned 
me,  and  said  that  he  had  other  views  for  her.  Stung  to  the 
quick,  I  said,  '  Should  Eveleen  be  persecuted,  she  has  a  pro- 
tector in  me ;  and  I  do  not  conceal  the  fact,  that  I  will  save 
her  from  all  suffering.'  Many  weeks  had  not  elapsed  before 
I  received  a  letter  from  Eveleen,  breathing  the  deepest 
anguish,  and  saying  that  her  father  insisted  on  her  accept- 
ing the  hand  of  a  man  of  wealth,  worldly  and  unprincipled, 
whom  she  deeply  abhorred.  The  more  that  she  refused,  the 
more  bitter  was  his  persecution.  I  was  agonized.  I  wrote 
an  answer,  urging  immediate  marriage.  Edith,  I  was  wrong, 
but  I  could  not  bear  to  see  her  miserable.  We  were  mar- 
ried privately,  and  I  feel  that  I  ought  now  to  claim  my 
bride, — I  am  able  to  support  her.  But  how  shall  I  inform 
her  father  ?  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  do  so,  ere  I  close 
this  letter. 

"  Since  I  wrote  the  lines  above,  I  have  informed  Mr.  Aus- 
tin of  all.  I  had  not  despatched  my  letters  but  two  hours, 
before  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  bank,  and  Eveleen,  pale 
and  terrified,  but  nearly  motionless,  in  the  back  seat,  beck- 
oned me  to  come  to  her.  Bursting  into  tears,  she  said, 
'  Frank,  I  am  a  disowned  and  banished  daughter !  I  have 
none  left  but  you.  My  father  says  that  he  has  abandoned  me 
to  my  fate.' 

"I  shall  take  a  cottage   near  Mr.  Berkely,  and  there  we 


264  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

shall  pass  our  lives  together  until  better  days  arrive.  Do 
not  blame  rue,  Edith.  I  have  done  nothing  clandestinely. 
I  told  Mr.  Austin  that  I  would  save  her  from  persecution ; 
and  I  trust  that  I  can  make  her  happy.  "Will  you  look  for 
a  home  for  us?  We  are  boarding  in  New  York  until  our 
house  is  ready.  There,  in  the  retirement  of  the  country, 
loving  and  comforting  each  other,  I  trust  that  we  shall  find 
peace.  Affectionately,  your  brother, 

"  FRANK." 

Edith  read  the  letter  seriously,  for  she  feared  that  sore  trials 
•were  in  the  way  of  her  brother  and  his  gentle  wife  :  but  she 
busied  herself  in  looking  for  a  suitable  home  for  the  young 
pair.  In  caring  for  her  dear  brother  she  forgot  many  of  her 
own  personal  griefs. 

But  a  new  trial  awaited  her.  Lilly's  peculiar  affliction 
made  it  necessary  that  she  should  be  sent  away  from  home 
to  be  educated.  This  had  been  Mrs.  Clifford's  request ;  and 
now  that  she  was  old  enough,  Edith  took  great  pains  in 

making  inquiries ;  and,  selecting  the  institution  at  P , 

she  prepared  to  send  her  away  under  the  care  of  a  faithful 
and  tried  servant,  Ellen  Moor,  the  niece  of  old  nurse. 
Lilly  was  greatly  distressed  at  the  thought  of  leaving  her 
own  sweet  home  and  her  dear  sister;  but  on  being  told  it 
was  mamma's  wish,  she  had  no  more  to  say.  On  the  night 
before  her  departure,  Edith,  as  usual,  retired  with  the  chil- 
dren to  their  room.  Placing  her  arm  affectionately  around 
Lilly,  who  leaned  her  head  upon  her  sister's  shoulder,  she  said, 
"  It  grieves  me,  dear,  to  send  you  from  me  ;  but  you  cannot  be 
properly  educated  at  home,  and  I  am  sure  that  you  will  wish  to 
be  of  some  use  in  the  world.  There  you  can  be  taught  to  read 
and  write,  and  to  sew,  to  knit,  and  to  do  many  more  useful 
things.  Ellen  is  a  good,  kind  girl,  and  will  take  the  best 
care  of  you.  You  will  soon  learn  to  wrrite,  and  then  you  can 
send  letters  every  week,  and  I  will  never  neglect  my  little  Lilly." 

"  Sister,  I  shall  miss  Emily  so  much,  and  though  I  cannot 
see  dear  Ravenswood,  I  can  think  how  the  trees  look  when  I 


COMING   OUT.  265 

hear  the  leaves  rustle,  and  how  the  flowers  look  when  I  smell 
them.  I  shall  miss  good  Uncle  Peter,  and  dear  old  nurse,  and 
my  little  cat,  and  my  birds ;  there  will  be  nothing  so  sweet 
there.  But  what  shall  I  do  without  good  Mr.  Berkely  ?  No 
one  will  lay  his  hands  upon  my  head,  and  bless  the  little 
blind  girl  so  kindly.  Indeed,  sister,  a  word  from  our  dear 
pastor  goes  down  into  my  heart,  and  does  me  good  for  days 
afterwards.  When  he  talks  to  me  about  the  dear  Saviour,  I 
wonder  how  anybody  can  help  loving  Jesus,  and  the  dear  pas- 
tor for  Jesus'  sake." 

Edith  folded  her  sweet  sister  in  her  arms,  and  bending  her 
knee,  committed  her  blind  child  to  her  Father  in  heaven,  with 
renewed  faith,  as  she  looked  upward  and  remembered  his 
covenanted  faithfulness  to  dear  Frank.  "  May  I  not  hope," 
whispered  she  to  her  heart,  "  that  though  perhaps  long  with- 
held, Madge,  dear,  wilful,  wandering  Madge,  thoughtless 
Blanche,  open,  truthful  Adele,  sweet  little  Emily,  and  my 
beloved  father,  will  all  be  brought  home  at  last  to  ope 
Saviour,  one  heaven,  one  home?"  The  hope  cheered  her  spirit 
and  nerved  her  for  parting  with  dear  Lilly.  Taking  her  on 

to  P ,  in  company  with  her  father  and  servant,  Edith  saw 

her  comfortably  placed  in  a  neat  little  chamber ;  and  in  her 
interview  with  the  principal  felt  well  assured  that  she  was 
leaving  her  in  the  care  of  wise,  judicious,  and  kind  friends. 
Lilly  was  comforted  with  the  thought  that  five  or  six  hours' 
journey  could,  at  any  time,  bring  them  together  again ;  and 
being  a  pious,  sensible  child,  she  submitted,  more  willingly  than 
Edith  had  anticipated,  to  the  separation. 

"  Remember,  Lilly,"  were  her  sister's  parting  words, 
"  when  evening  comes  I  shall  always  be  with  Emily  praying 
for  my  darling  Lilly ;  you  will  not  forget  us  then,  love,  will  you  ?" 

"  Never.  Ellen  will  tell  me  when  the  evening  star  shines 
in  the  sky,  and  then  I  shall  think  of  you  and  dear  mamma." 

"  At  Christmas  we  shall  send  for  you,  Lilly ;  the  time  will 
fly  rapidly.  Good-bye,  dearest,"  and  with  one  more  affection- 
ate kiss,  Edith  was  gone,  and  the  blind  child  was  alone  with 
her  nurse. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


WOODBINE    COTTAGE. 

DEEPER  clouds  gathered  around  the  path  of 
Frank  Clifford.     His  father,  who  had  almost 
resolved  to  recall  his  son,  when  he  heard  of  his 
imprudent   marriage   was   deeply  displeased,   and 
his  increasing  moodiness  and  frequent  absence  from 
his  family  led  Edith  to  fear  that  the  day  of  recon- 
ciliation was  farther  off. 

A  new  object  of  interest,  however,  engrossed 
much  of  her  time.  Having  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  neat 
little  cottage  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  she  was  busily 
occupied  in  receiving  the  simple  furniture  which  was  sent  up 
daily  from  New  York.  When  the  last  touch  was  given,  she 
looked  around  upon  the  results  of  her  labor  with  peculiar  «at- 
isfaction.  The  tasteful  little  cottage  was  an  attractive  feature 
in  the  landscape,  standing,  as  it  did,  embowered  in  green  trees, 
at  the  head  of  a  grassy  lawn,  which  sloped  down  to  the  river's 
brink,  and  around  which  bloomed  every  variety  of  beautiful 
flowers.  Over  the  lattice-work  that  covered  the  front  porch 
was  trained  a  profusion  of  woodbine,  which  led  Edith  to  name 
the  sweet  spot  Woodbine  Cottage.  The  furniture  was  very 
simple,  but  arranged  to  the  best  advantage  by  Edith's  skilful 
hand.  The  windows  of  the  little  parlor,  which  reached  the 
lawn,  were  shaded  by  thin  muslin  curtains;  and  Edith,  out  of 
the  allowance  regularly  given  her  by  Aunt  Priscilla,  was  able 
266 


WOODBINE    COTTAGE.  267 

to  add  many  little  articles  of  taste,  which  Frank  could  not 
purchase.  Some  pretty  vases  for  flowers,  a  neat  little  book- 
case furnished  with  valuable  books,  and  two  very  pretty,  com- 
fortable, fancy  chairs  were  added  as  the  sister's  gift.  A  handy 
housemaid  was  hired,  and  Edith  saw  that  a  nice  meal  was 
prepared  in  the  neat  little  dining-room,  ready  to  receive  the 
young  pair  on  the  first  evening  of  their  arrival ;  for  the  kind 
sister  had  stipulated  that  neither  should  see  the  little  home 
until  all  was  completed.  Towards  evering,  the  boat  which 
brought  up  the  evening  passengers,  passed  directly  in  front  of 
the  pleasant,  picturesque  spot. 

Frank,  who  was  pacing  the  deck  with  Eveleen,  called  her 
attention  to  the  shore.  "Look,  dear,"  said  the  young  wife, 
" what  a  darling  little  nest  that  is!  Howl  should  like  just 
such  a  home!  What  beautiful  trees !  What  a  smooth,  velvet 
lawn !  How  exquisite  that  little  porch  looks,  with  its  wood- 
bine arbor!  And,  Frank,  look  there!  What  a  sweet-looking 
lady !  What  a  noble  air  she  has !  She  seems  to  be  watching 
us  very  earnestly !  Why,  Frank,  she  is  waving  her  handker- 
chief, I  do  believe !"  and  turning  round  to  look  at  her  hus- 
band's face,  she  saw  there  a  very  meaning  smile.  "  0,  Frank, 
I  do  believe  that  is  our  home,  and  that  is  our  sister  Edith !  Is 
it  not  so  ?"  said  Eveleeu. 

"  It  is,  my  love,  you  have  rightly  guessed ;  and  this  is  all 
the  home  I  have  to  offer  to  the  petted  Eveleen  Austin." 

"  Don't  say  so,  Frank,  it  is  perfectly  charming,"  said  the 
sweet  girl. 

Soon  the  boat  was  brought  to  the  pier,  not  far  from  their 
home.  Landing  speedily,  with  their  baggage,  they  proceeded, 
arm-in-arm,  down  the  shore,  to  their  cottage  home.  Edith, 
who  had  been  anxiously  expecting  them,  ran  hastily  down  the 
lawn  to  meet  the  expected  travellers.  The  little  gate  was 
quickly  opened,  and  her  arms  outspread  to  receive  the  young 
bride,  as  she  kissed  her  affectionately  and  said,  "  Welcome,  my 
Bister,  to  your  humble  home." 

Eveleen  raised  her  blue  eyes  to  Edith's  face,  almost  with 
reverence,  as  she  replied,  '  I  know  what  you  have  been  to 


268  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Frank,  be  the  same  to  me ;  we  are  a  young  pair  very  much 
alone  in  the  world,  with  none  to  care  for  us  but  each  other,  and 
our  sister  Edith ;"  and  her  sweet  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she 
caressingly  took  Edith's  arm,  and  walked  to  the  house. 
Throwing  off  her  hat,  when  she  reached  the  porch,  her  luxu- 
riant hair  fell  over  her  neck  in  rich  profusion,  and  as  she 
looked  around  her  with  an  expression  of  innocent  delight, 
Edith  thought  that  she  had  never  seen  a  being  more  lovely 
than  her  brother's  gentle  wife,  and  wondered  not  that  he  should 
love  her  ;  but  she  sighed  as  she  observed  the  extreme  delicacy 
of  her  complexion,  and  the  blue  veins  which  coursed  so  dis- 
tinctly under  the  transparent  skin. 

Edith  conducted  her  to  her  pretty  chamber,  and  as  she 
clapped  her  little  hands,  enraptured  with  all  that  she  saw, 
her  sister  was  richly  repaid,  when  Eveleen  threw  her  arms 
again  around  her  neck,  and  said,  "Thank  you,  thank  you, 
dear,  sweet  sister !  what  a  neat  little  dressing-bureau !  and 
such  a  jewel  of  a  wash-stand !  and  what  a  pretty  carpet !" 
Then,  flying  to  the  window,  she  gazed  out  upon  the  charm- 
ing prospect.  "  Just  think,  Edith,  of  looking,  all  the  time, 
at  such  a  beautiful  view !  I  would  not  go  back  to  New 
York  for  all  the  grand  palaces  in  the  Fifth  Avenue."  Then, 
turning  to  the  dressing-bureau,  she  quickly  made  her  simple 
toilet,  exchanging  her  travelling  dress  for  a  neat  white 
robe,  and  twisting  her  beautiful  curls  around  her  little  fin- 
gers, and  placing  a  few  flowers  in  her  luxuriant  hair,  said 
smilingly,  "  Frank  likes  to  see  flowers  in  my  hair,  and  I  try 
to  do  everything  to  please  him  ;  he  is  all  the  world  to  me, 
Edith;"  and  down  she  tripped,  like  a  little  humming-bird, 
and,  running  out  to  the  dining-room,  she  glided  around  the 
table,  with  movements  light  and  graceful  as  a  fairy. 
"Now,  Frank,  is  not  this  tea-set  charming?  white  and  gilt; 
then  that  pretty  little  urn,  and  a  cream-jug,  and  sugar-bowl. 
Frank,  I  know  you  did  not  order  silver,  and,  you  know,  we 
runaways  had  no  profusion  of  silver  wedding-presents ; 
where  in  the  world  did  they  come  from?  Now  I  know," 
looking  at  Edith's  blushing  face  ;  "  you  bought  them,  darling. 


WOODBINE   COTTAGE.  269 

O,  how  kind  you  are !"  and  away  she  flew  again,  to  heap  ca- 
resses upon  Frank's  dear  sister.  "  Now,  Edith,  is  it  not  a 
dreadful  pity  that  Eveleen  Austin  should  be  such  a  little  fool? 
There,  if  I  had  married  the  great  Mr.  Peyton,  I  should  have 
thousands  of  dollars  worth  of  silver  spread  upon  my  centre- 
table,  to  show  my  envious  guests.  I  should  have  a  splendid 
house  on  the  Fifth  Avenue,  a  magnificent  carriage  and  pair, 
real  Cashmere  shawls,  splendid  jewelry,  point  lace,  and  real 
diamonds.  But,  Edith,"  lowering  her  gentle  voice  to  a  sad 
whisper,  "  I  should  have  had  no  love.  My  heart  would 
have  withered,  and  it  would  soon  have  been  said  of  Eveleen 
Austin,  '  Ashes  to  aslies,  dust  to  dust.'  But  now  I  have  a 
simple  cottage,  far  away  from  noise,  and  heat,  and  fashion," 
and,  looking  affectionately  at  her  husband,  "  and  I  have  a 
wealth  of  love  and  worth  in  the  noble  heart  that  loves  me;" 
and,  rising,  she  confidingly  placed  her  arm  in  her  husband's, 
who  led  her  to  the  table,  and  placing  her  at  its  head,  said, 
"  Now,  fairy,  let  me  see  how  you  will  do  the  honors  of  the 
table." 

"  I  don't  know  much,  Frank,  but  I  can  learn  everything, 
for  your  sake."  And,  seating  herself  gaily  at  the  table,  she 
praised  the  ripe  strawberries  and  rich  cream,  the  nice  bread 
and  butter,  the  fragrant  tea,  and  wondered  if  she  should  be 
able  to  have  so  nice  a  meal  when  Edith  was  gone.  After 
tea,  taking  her  husband's  arm,  she  proceeded  to  the  kitchen, 
and  asked  Edith  the  use  of  everything ;  then,  out  to  the 
poultry  yard,  where,  seating  herself  on  a  low  stool,  with  all 
the  playfulness  of  a  child,  she  tried  to  catch  the  little  chick- 
ens, and  said,  laughingly,  "  Edith,  won't  it  be  fine  fun  to  see 
Eveleen  Austin,  with  her  neat  white  apron,  and  basket  in 
hand,  feeding  her  poultry  ?  Would  not  the  belles  be 
shocked?"  Edith  was  charmed  with  the  simplicity  and 
warm-heartedness  of  her  interesting  sister,  and  could  not 
but  admire  the  devotion  which  had  transformed  this  clrld 
of  fashion  into  the  loving,  domestic  wife.  Prophesying 
much  happiness  for  her  brother,  she  turned  with  them  to  go 
into  the  house.  Edith  whispered  a  word  to  Frank,  who 


270  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

said,  "  Evy,  dear,  we  are  now  the  heads  of  a  family,  and  I 
wish  to  have  God's  blessing  on  our  house  ;  it  is  my  desire  to 
recognize  God  as  the  ruler  here,  and  therefore,  if  you  have  no 
objection,  we  will  have  family  worship,  morning  and  evening. 
It  was  my  mother's  custom,  and  I  cannot  think  a  family  pro- 
perly ordered  without  it." 

Evy  smiled,  and  said,  "  Do  just  as  you  please,  dear  Frank, 
though  I  think  it  seems  a  little  Puritanical.  I  have  never 
been  accustomed  to  anything  but  the  worship  of  God  in  his 
own  house,  but  you  are  the  master  here,  and  all  your  rules 
shall  be  respected." 

So  Frank  Clifford  opened  the  Bible,  read  a  portion,  and, 
from  a  well-arranged  form,  conducted  family  worship  in  his 
own  house.  It  required  some  self-denial  to  do  so,  but,  be- 
ginning to  consider  duty  before  inclination,  he  manfully 
pursued  the  path  of  obedience. 

Next  day,  Eveleen,  knowing  that  Frank  was  fond  of  an 
omelette,  ordered  one  for  breakfast ;  but  her  servant  not  being 
able  to  make  one,  and  being  anxious  to  make  some  trial  of  her 
skill,  she  stepped  out  of  her  room,  and  in  her  neat  morning- 
wrapper  and  white  apron,  undertook  the  weighty  task. 
Having  a  book  to  consult,  she  was  full  of  the  idea  of  trying 
without  consulting  Edith,  intending  to  surprise  both  her 
husband  and  sister.  She  toiled  over  her  work,  burnt  her  poor 
little  hands,  scorched  her  face,  and  when  she  had  accomplished 
her  task,  rang  her  bell,  and  took  her  seat  with  an  air  of 
pretty  triumph  at  the  table.  But  she  was  afraid  all  was  not 
right,  for  it  looked  too  solid  and  heavy.  When  she  offered  a 
piece  to  her  husband,  she  waited  anxiously  to  hear  his 
remarks. 

"Why,  fairy,  what  is  this?"  said  Frank.  "It  is  very 
tough ;  there  is  too  much  flour  in  it." 

Evy's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  said,  "  I'm  so  sorry, 
Frank  ;  I  thought  I  was  making  such  a  nice  omelette,  and 
now  it's  all  a  failure ;  but  it  is  the  first  I  ever  made,  the  next 
will  be  better." 

"Don't  cry,  fairy,"  said  her   husband;  "  if  I  had   known 


WOODBINE   COTTAGE.  271 

that  you  made  it  I  should  not  have  said  one  word.  You 
deserve  a  great  deal  of  credit  for  your  effort,  and  if  you 
will  only  stoop  to  ask  a  little  advice,  you  will  soon  learn." 
Edith  informed  her  what  had  been  her  mistake,  and  prom- 
ised to  show  her  all  about  it,  and  to  furnish  her  with  many 
valuable  recipes. 

When  she  saw  them  completely  settled  in  their  little 
home,  Edith  returned  to  Ravenswood,  happy  in  seeing  her 
brother  united  to  a  being  so  lovely  and  devoted,  and  hoped 
that  the  day  would  come  when  both  should  be  restored  to  their 
parents'  love.  Eveleen  was  a  happy  wife,  though  the  thoughts 
of  home  and  mother  sometimes  cast  a  shadow  over  her  sunny 
brow ;  yet  was  her  devotion  to  her  husband  the  more  absorb- 
ing in  consequence  of  this  estrangement.  Daily,  she  busied 
herself  about  her  household  arrangements.  She  was  rapidly 
improving,  under  Edith's  tuition,  and  bid  fair  to  become  an 
excellent  housekeeper.  Blanche  and  Adele  had  returned  from 
the  city,  having  spent  a  very  gay  winter,  and  now  frequently 
visited  their  interesting  sister,  and  counted  it  quite  a  treat  to  be 
invited  to  tea  at  Woodbine  Cottage. 

Eveleen's  sponge-cake,  Eveleen's  tea,  and  Eveleen's  pre- 
serves, were  the  nicest  ever  spread  upon  a  table,  and  Frank 
was  a  proud  husband  when  he  heard  the  praises  of  his  dar- 
ling wife.  The  twins  were  still  supremely  devoted  to  plea- 
sure. Blanche  attracted  many  admirers,  and  Adele  was  the 
life  of  every  circle  where  she  moved.  But  had  they  quite 
forgotten  God  ?  It  is  feared  that  self  and  the  world  had 
entire  possession  of  their  young  hearts ;  for,  although  for 
fashion's  sake,  and  from  the  force  of  early  habits,  they  still 
frequented  the  house  of  God,  their  interests  were  wholly 
engrossed  in  the  amusements  and  frivolous  pursuits  of  a  false 
and  fleeting  world.  Gerald  did  not  seem  to  like  the  numerous 
admirers  that  flitted  around  Blanche,  and  Edith  was  disturbed 
by  these  fresh  exhibitions;  but,  whenever  he  had  been  guilty 
of  any  act  for  which  his  conscience  condemned  him,  his  re- 
newed devotion  to  Edith  silenced  her  fears,  and  completely 
deceived  her. 


272  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Frank's  interest  in  serious  things  appeared  to  increase. 
Eveleen  observed  that  he  was  more  deeply  engaged  in  read- 
ing the  Bible,  and  spent  much  time  in  the  retirement  of  his 
room.  She  generally  contrived  to  have  all  her  housekeep- 
ing regulated,  and  herself  dressed,  against  she  expected  her 
husband.  Seated  on  her  little  porch,  generally  in  a  simple 
•white  dress,  she  was  ready  to  watch  for  the  approach  of  the 
evening  boat,  and  as  soon  as  she  saw  a  white  handkerchief 
waving  from  the  deck,  kissing  her  hand,  away  she  flew,  and 
throwing  on  her  large  flat  and  silk  mantle,  her  graceful  figure 
might  daily  be  seen,  with  rapid  step,  hastening  up  the  shore, 
to  meet  her  husband.  Leaning  on  his  arm,  with  her  sweet  face 
upturned  to  his  loving  gaze,  she  would  lead  him  into  the 
house,  run  up  stairs  with  him,  hand  his  loose  wrapper  and 
slippers,  brush  his  hair  lovingly,  and  then  would  say,  sweetly, 
"  Now,  dear,  do  you  want  to  be  alone  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  little  while,  fairy  ;  I  will  be  with  you  soon.'"' 

Pleasant  were  the  hours  spent  together,  after  these  seasons 
of  refreshment  in  the  presence  of  his  Heavenly  Father. 

Mr.  Berkely  often  visited  them  at  their  cottage,  and  was 
deeply  interested  in  the  young  pair.  He  was  frequently  alone 
with  Frank,  for  an  hour  at  a  time,  and  there  was  evidently 
something  on  his  mind  which  depressed  and  troubled  him. 
He  was  devoted  to  his  class  in  the  Sunday-school,  and  em- 
ployed much  of  his  time,  on  Saturday  afternoons,  in  visiting 
them  at  their  homes. 

Mr.  Clifford  began  to  ask  questions  about  Frank,  and  Edith 
was  delighted  to  speak  of  his  improved  character,  of  his  lovely 
wife,  his  pleasant  home,  and  his  present  appearance  of  deep 
interest  in  the  things  of  God.  She  hoped  that  the  day  was  not 
far  distant  when  her  dear  brother  would  be  recalled  to  her 
father's  bosom ;  but  she  wisely  forbore  urging  it.  A  notice 
had  been  given  for  confirmation.  Frank  heard  it  with  solemn 
feelings.  He  had  long  desired  to  dedicate  himself  openly  to 
God,  for  he  trusted  that  he  had  given  himself  to  his  service, 
and  longed  to  identify  himself  with  the  Redeemer's  flock. 
Walking  home  quietly  from  church,  Frank  turned  at  length 


WOODBINE    COTTAGE.  273 

to  Eveleen,  and  said,  "  Evy,  dear,  I  wish  to  tell  you  that  it  is 
my  intention  to  be  confirmed.  I  believe  that  I  possess  the 
spiritual  qualifications  for  the  rite,  and  I  regard  it  as  a  solemn 
duty  to  devote  myself  to  God's  service." 

"I  suppose  that  it  is  all  right,  Frank,"  said  Eveleen;  "but, 
dear,  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  be  a  Methodist." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Evy?" 

"  I  mean,  that  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  think  it  a  sin  to 
smile,  and  sing  psalms  all  day ;  I  think,  Frank,  it  would  be  so 
gloomy." 

Frank  smiled  at  the  foolish  notions  of  his  little  wife,  but 
making  allowances  for  her  education,  he  said,  "  I  think, 
Eveleen,  if  any  one  should  be  cheerful,  it  should  be  the  Chris- 
tian :  not  full  of  levity  and  thoughtless  mirth,  but  serene, 
joyous,  peaceful.  I  have  learned,  Evy,  that  it  is  a  solenm 
thing  to  live. 

"  '  Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest, 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal. 

"Dust  thou  art,  to  dustreturnest," 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul.'  " 

"  Well,  dear  Frank,"  replied  Eveleen,  "  I  think  that  you 
are  good  enough  now,  but  you  must  do  your  duty;  I  shall 
never  interfere." 

"  I  wish,  dear  Evy,  that  you  felt  more  interest  in  serious 
things,  personally,"  replied  her  husband. 

"  Remember,  dear  husband,  that  I  was  never  brought  up 
religiously,  as  you  have  been,  and  that  makes  a  great  differ- 
ence." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  know  it  does ;  it  is  an  unspeakable  privilege 
to  have  had  a  holy  mother,  and  I  have  realized  its  blessing ; 
but,  dear  Evy,  there  is  a  great  need  in  every  human  heart,  and 
that  is,  the  need  of  pardon,  through  a  Saviour's  blood." 

"  Why,  Frank,  what  have  I  done?  I  do  not  break  any  of 
the  commandments.  I  try  to  be  kind,  and  gentle,  and  loving ; 
I  pray  every  morning  and  evening ;  I  go  to  church :  what  else 
must  I  do?" 

"  We  must  remember,  dearest,  that  GxTs  estimate  of  our 


274  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

character  is  very  different  from  our  own.  He  tries  us  by  the 
spirituality  of  his  holy  law,  which  does  not  excuse  a  single 
omission.  You  will  allow,  dear  Evy,  that  by  that  holy  stand- 
ard, all  are  guilty  before  God." 

"  I  have  always  looked  upon  our  Heavenly  Father  as  a  God 
of  mercy,  Frank,  who  will  not  be  extreme  to  mark  our  short- 
comings." 

"  So  he  is,  Evy ;  but  his  mercy  is  extended  to  us  through 
Jesus  Christ  alone,  and  we  receive  it  by  an  act  of  trusting  faith 
in  his  holy  promises." 

Many  such  conversations  passed  between  the  young  pair, 
nor  Avere  they  all  in  vain.  The  good  pastor  was  a  faithful 
guide  to  the  young  man,  lending  him  suitable  books,  visiting, 
counselling,  and  praying  with  him.  Light  gradually  dawned 
upon  his  path.  He  was  enabled  to  embrace  the  promises,  to 
realize  his  interest  in  the  death  of  his  Redeemer,  and  finally 
gave  his  name  as  a  candidate  for  confirmation.  Ere  partaking 
of  that  solemn  rite,  he  wrote  to  Eveleen's  father,  and  his  own, 
begging  forgiveness  for  their  act  of  disobedience ;  but,  as  yet, 
no  forgiveness  came.  Mrs.  Austin  longed  to  fold  her  child  to 
her  heart,  but  the  father  was  inexorable ;  his  pride  had  been 
too  deeply  wounded. 

When  the  day  of  confirmation  arrived,  no  more  earnest 
heart,  or  interesting  person,  knelt  at  the  altar,  than  Frank 
Clifford  ;  and  many  a  heartfelt  prayer  went  up  before  the 
mercy-seat,  that  he  might  be  kept  in  the  way  everlasting.  It 
may  well  be  imagined  with  what  feelings  of  unspeakable  joy 
Edith  looked  upon  her  beloved  brother,  once  so  far  astray, 
now  brought  back  to  the  fold  of  God.  Here  was  the  visible 
answer  to  her  supplications,  here  the  fruits  of  that  early  Chris- 
tian training,  which  had  followed  his  young  footsteps  all  the 
days  of  his  life.  When  the  Bishop  laid  his  hands  upon  his 
head,  and  uttered  the  affecting  prayer  of  the  beautiful  service, 
Edith's  faith  was  strengthened,  and  she  hoped  that  all  her 
dear  ones  would  at  last  be  brought  safely  home  into  the  evei'- 
lasting  kingdom.  Eveleen  looked  on  with  a  tearful  counte- 
nance, for  the  solemnity  of  the  scene  impressed  her  heart,  and 


WOODBINE   COTTAGE.  275 

when  she  took  her  husband's  arm  on  her  return  home,  she 
realized  painfully  that  there  was  one  subject  in  which  they 
had  no  mutual  interest.  Perhaps  they  were  treading  different 
paths.  What  if  his  should  be  to  heaven,  and  hers  away  from 
God?  The  thought  sank  deep  into  her  heart,  and  imparted  a 
shade  to  her  sweet  countenance.  Ere  Frank  partook  of  the 
communion,  he  wrote  once  more  to  his  father  a  full,  frank, 
humble  confession  of  all  his  faults,  and  an  earnest  prayer  to 
be  taken  once  more  to  his  bosom.  Ever  since  the  confirma- 
tion, Edith  had  observed  a  great  change  in  her  father ;  he  had 
been  touched  more  than  he  acknowledged,  by  the  open  pro- 
fession of  his  son  ;  and '  now  she  observed  that  her  brothpr's 
picture  was  restored  to  its  place  in  the  drawing-room,  and  that 
her  father  seemed  pensive  and  deeply  ruminating. 

After  tea,  seated  on  the  piazza,  her  father  took  his  seat  by 
her  side.  "Edith,"  said  he,  "will  you  tell  me  something 
about  Frank's  wife?"  Her  heart  gave  a  bound  of  joy,  for  only 
once  before  had  his  name  passed  her  father's  lips. 

"  She  is  all,  dear  father,  that  you  could  wish :  one  of  the 
loveliest  and  most  devoted  of  little  wives.  Though  educated 
in  the  midst  of  affluence,  she  is  the  most  cheerful  and  notable 
little  housekeeper  that  you  can  imagine.  I  am  sure  if  you 
knew  her  that  you  would  love  her;  and  then,  during  all 
Frank's  trials  she  has  comforted  him,  and  upheld  him  so 
sweetly,  never  once  complaining  ;  but,  like  a  bright  sunbeam, 
bidding  him  to  be  hopeful,  submitting  to  privations,  and  per- 
forming services  that  her  delicate  hands  had  never  touched 
before." 

"Edith,  I  can  hold  out  no  longer.  I  received  such  an 
humble,  frank  letter,  from  your  brother,  that  I  long  to  assure 
him  of  my  forgiveness,  and  to  take  them  both  to  my  heart. 
You  know,  dear,  that  on  Thursday  next  will  be  the  anniversary 
of  my  wedding-day,  which,  during  your  dear  mother's  lifetime, 
we  always  observed.  Would  not  that  be  a  suitable  time  to 
have  our  family  reunion?  Since  her  death,  I  have  still  ob- 
served it,  but  it  has  been  in  the  silence  of  my  chamber,  re- 
viewing all  the  past." 


276  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Edith  threw  her  arms  around  her  father's  neck,  with  her 
heart  too  full  for  utterance  for  some  minutes.  At  last  she  said, 
"  Dear  father,  how  happy  would  this  have  made  my  dear 
mother;  and  darling  Frank  only  needs  this  to  restore  his 
peace.  He  deserves  our  confidence ;  he  is  greatly  changed  :  so 
attentive  to  business,  so  loving  and  devoted  at  home,  so  con- 
scientious and  faithful,  as  a  Christian ;  you  would  scarcely 
know  your  wild,  impulsive  boy." 

The  father's  eyes  glistened,  as  he  listened  to  the  praises  of 
his  son,  and  he  replied,  solemnly,  "  Edith,  you  are  nobly 
redeeming  your  vow  to  your  dying  mother.  If  you  had  for- 
saken him,  as  I  have  done,  where  might  he  have  been  now  ? 
But  faithfully  you  have  clung  to  him.  I  have  watched  your 
devotion,  dearest.  I  see  the  lofty  principle.  You  have  \von 
your  brother  back  to  paths  of  peace.  Madge  will  come  too  ;  I 
feel  it;  and,  Edith,  your  father,  too.  What  would  you  say  if 
I  should  tell  you  that  you  may  hope  to  see  him  walking  in 
paths  of  holiness.  The  atmosphere  of  Ravenswood,  so  purified 
by  the  sainted  spirit  that  dwelt  here  so  long,  is  full  of  holy 
associations  and  links  which  bind  to  heaven."  Edith  listened 
with  all  the  feelings  of  her  deep  nature  stirred  to  their  very 
depths. 

"  Oh,  father,  how  shall  I  thank  God  for  all  his  goodness  ! 
How  unworthy  am  I  of  the  least  of  his  mercies  !" 

"  The  longer  I  live,  Edith,  the  more  powerful  becomes  your 
mother's  influence.  If  I  go  into  my  room,  there  are  her  table 
and  books  of  devotion.  Her  sweet  picture  smiles  on  me,  Edith, 
and  seems  to  reproach  me,  when  I  neglect  my  Bible  or  daily 
prayer.  If  I  go  into  the  library,  there  is  the  chair  on  which 
she  used  to  sit  in  our  family  unions;  in  the  sitting-room,  there 
is  the  Bible  in  which  she  used  to  read,  in  family  worship  ;  in 
the  garden,  the  flowers  which  she  used  to  love ;  in  the  house  of 
God,  the  Prayer-book  which  she  valued  ;  by  the  wayside,  the 
poor  whom  she  loved  to  bless ;  in  the  parish  school,  the  little 
children  whom  she  ministered  to  so  kindly.  Often,  as  I  pass 
along,  I  hear  the  little  curly-headed  prattlers  blessing  the 
memory  of  my  sainted  Mary." 


WOODBINE   COTTAGE.  277 

Edith  felt,  as  she  listened  to  her  father,  the  power  of  woman's 
influence  as  she  had  never  done  before,  and  hastened  to  sum- 
mon her  brother  and  his  wife  to  his  childhood's  home. 

Anxious  to  make  the  occasion  one  of  great  rejoicing,  Mr- 
Clifford  wrote  to  Mr.  Austin,  begging  forgiveness  for  his  offend- 
ing daughter,  stating  all  that  he  knew  about  their  course,  announc- 
ing his  intention  of  restoring  to  his  son  all  his  rights,  and 
inviting  Eveleen's  parents  to  meet  them  all  at  Ravenswood. 
Mr.  Austin  was  too  proud  to  yield,  although  his  heart  longed 
for  a  sight  of  his  own  Eveleen  ;  but  he  left  his  wife  free  to  do 
as  she  pleased,  and  the  mother's  heart  flew  to  meet  her  long- 
lost  child.  Eveleen  had  frequently  written  to  her  mother, 
begging  forgiveness;  and  it  was  a  singular  fact,  that  on  the 
very  day  when  Mr.  Clifford's  letter  arrived,  another  touching 
epistle  came  from  Eveleen,  which  Mrs.  Austin  instantly  an- 
swered, assuring  her  of  full  and  free  forgiveness,  but  saying 
nothing  about  the  contents  of  Mr.  Clifford's  letter.  It  was 
arranged  that  Mrs.  Austin  should  meet  her  daughter  at  Ravens- 
wood,  on  the  anniversary  day;  but  neither  knew  of  the  delight- 
ful surprise  in  store  for  them. 

Frank  regarded  the  recall  as  another  token  of  God's  un- 
merited goodness.  It  reached  him  the  day  before  the  reunion, 
and  ran  thus : 

"  Come,  dear  Frank,  dear  Eveleen,  your  father  longs  to  wel- 
come you  to  your  home  once  more.  Mr.  Berkely  has  had  a 
great  deal  to  do  with  this  result ;  what  a  dear,  faithful  friend 
he  is !  We  shall  expect  you  at  four  o'clock. 

"  From  your  own  EDITH." 

Eveleen  flew  to  her  husband,  in  an  ecstacy  of  delight,  saying, 
"  Oh,  Frank,  won't  it  be  a  happy  day !  Home  again  to  Ravens- 
wood  !  Banished  no  more !  And  then,  on  your  mother's 
wedding-day !"  Then,  bursting  into  tears,  she  sobbed  out, 
"  Oh  !  if  I  could  only  hope  to  be  restored  to  my  parents'  love 
once  more  !  But,  I  must  wait  patiently."  Wiping  her  eyes, 
she  resolved  that  nothing  should  dim  the  happiness  of  Frank's 
return.  Soon  recovering  her  spirits,  for  his  sake,  she  chatted 


278  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

away,  with  all  the  sweet  simplicity  of  a  guileless,  affectionate 
child.  Next  morning  she  was  up  with  the  lark.  Frank 
promised  to  come  home  sooner  than  usual,  and  she  busied 
herself  all  day,  wondering  how  Mr.  Clifford  looked,  and  what 
she  should  say,  and  how  she  should  behave  to  her  new  father. 
At  an  early  hour,  dressed  in  a  white  muslin,  Frank's  favorite, 
with  some  natural  flowers  in  her  beautiful  hair,  radiant  with 
delight,  though  trembling  and  blushing  with  vague  apprehen- 
sions of  she  knew  not  what,  she  presented  herself  before  her 
husband,  and  entering  a  carriage,  they  were  driven  rapidly  to 
Ravenswood.  As  they  came  in  sight  of  the  noble  mansion, 
Frank's  emotions  were  visible,  and  Eveleen's  expressions  of 
rapture  were  voluble  as  usual ;  but  as  they  drew  near,  the  depth 
of  their  feelings  silenced  both  ;  and  when  they  approached  the 
door,  they  perceived  a  group  standing  on  the  piazza  ready  to 
welcome  them. 

Descending  from  their  carriage,  Frank  tenderly  supported 
the  trembling  form  of  his  sweet  wife ;  and  leading  her  to  his 
father,  Mr.  Clifford  first  embraced  his  son  in  unutterable  joy, 
"  My  son  !  my  long-lost  son  !" 

"  My  dear,  dear  father !"  burst  simultaneously  from  their 
lips ;  then,  laying  his  hand  solemnly  on  Eveleen's  head,  he 
said,  slowly,  "God  bless  my  daughter — my  Eveleen!"  and  she, 
in  tearful  silence,  kissed  the  hand  reverently,  and  replied, 
"Love  me,  for  Frank's  sake, — will  you  not,  dear  father?" 

Edith  received  her  brother  with  all  the  deep  emotion  of 
which  her  fervent  nature  was  capable.  Frank  was  nearly  un- 
manned by  the  warm  affection  with  which  his  younger  sisters 
embraced  him  and  welcomed  him  home  once  more.  His  feelings 
were  deeply  touched,  on  seeing  good  old  nurse  standing  in  the 
hall,  wiping  away  the  tears  with  her  white  apron;  and  old 
Uncle  Peter,  throwing  up  the  whites  of  his  eyes,  in  great 
delight,  to  heaven,  as  he  wrung  his  young  master's  hand,  and 
said,  "  Welcome  home,  Massa  Frank  !  Didn't  I  tell  you  that 
there  was  a  soft  place  in  old  massa's  heart,  and  that  we  should 
see  you  back  in  your  father's  hall  ?"  During  thu  speech,  Aunt 
Priscilla  was  hurrying  forward,  and  seizing  Frank's  hand,  ?aid, 


WOODBINE    COTTAGE.  279 

"  Wouldn't  Mary  Clifford  be  a  happy  woman  to-day,  if  she 
were  here?  But  she's  better  off.  They  say  the  angels  rejoice 
over  repenting  sinners,  and  I'm  sure  she's  an  angel  in  the  skies, 
and  shouts  for  joy  to-day." 

On  entering  the  drawing-room,  what  was  Eveleen's  surprise 
and  joy  to  find  herself  folded  in  the  embrace  oi  her  beloved 
mother.  "  O  mother,  this  is  too  much  joy  !"  said  the  excited 
girl,  almost  fainting  from  the  excess  of  her  emotion ;  and 
taking  Frank  by  the  arm,  she  led  him  to  Mrs.  Austin,  saying, 
"  Forgive  us,  dear  mother,  and  love  my  dear  husband;  will  you 
not,  mother?" 

"You  are  both  fully  forgiven,  my  dear  children,"  said  the 
mother  ;  and  embracing  Frank,  added,  "  Henceforth,  you  are 
my  son,  my  dear  son." 

Gathered  around  the  family  board,  it  was  a  happy  group 
that  assembled  that  evening  in  the  halls  of  Raveuswood,  and 
good  Mr.  Berkely,  who  had  sympathized  with  all  their  joy, 
blessed  the  household,  in  the  words  of  earnest  prayer  and  bene- 
diction, and  learned  another  lesson,  of  th  •  power  of  woman's 
influence  and  the  efficacy  of  believing  prayer. 

"  All  we  need  now,"  said  Frank,  "  to  make  us  happy,  is  the 
presence  of  our  dear  Madge.  Have  you  heard  anything  of  her, 
Edith?" 

"  Not  a  word,"  replied  his  sister,  "  but  Ralph  is  in  search  of 
her,  and  I  hope  much  from  his  perseverance.  She  has  given 
us  a  great  deal  of  anxiety,  but  I  believe  she  will  be  restored  to 
us  yet." 

After  supper,  the  party  were  charmed  by  Eveleen's  perform- 
ance on  the  piano,  and  by  Edith's  harp. 

Eveleen,  whose  sense  was  very  quick  in  all  that  relates  to 
the  affections,  was  surprised  at  the  admiration  which  Gerald 
manifested  for  Blanche,  especially  as  she  knew  the  relations 
between  himself  and  the  noble  Edith  Clifford. 

While  seated  in  the  drawing-room,  the  father  by  the  side  of 
Frank,  and  Eveleen  folded  in  her  mother's  embrace,  Uncle 
Peter  presented  a  smiling  face  at  the  door,  as  he  said,  "Miss 
Edith,  here  is  a  letter  for  you.  I  hope  there  is  good  news  in 


280  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

it."  Edith,  seeing  it  was  Ralph's  writing,  seized  it  with  a 
trembling  hand,  and,  on  breaking  the  seal,  exclaimed  : 

"News  from  Madge,  dear  father;  Ralph  has  found  her!" 
Then  suddenly  changing  countenance,  she  continued,  "  She  is 
very  ill,  with  but  little  hope  of  final  recovery.  As  soon  as  she 
is  able  to  be  moved  at  all,  Ralph  will  bring  her  home.  She  is 
almost  heart-broken." 

These  tidings  saddened  the  spirits  of  the  party,  but  hope  still 
whispered  its  sweet  messages  to  Edith's  heart.  Before  return- 
ing to  Woodbine  Cottage,  Frank  sought  an  interview  with  his 
father,  in  the  library,  and  communicated  to  him  first  his  secret 
wishes  and  convictions  of  duty 

"  You  know,  dear  father,  that  I  have  always  desired  a  pro- 
fession. My  first  choice  was  most  unfortunate,  but  since  I  have 
become  a  Christian,  it  is  my  solemn  conviction  that  I  atn  called 
to  preach  the  everlasting  Gospel.  The  difficulty  is  about  sup- 
porting my  wife,  but  I  think  that  I  can  do  so.  I  can  still 
retain  my  place  at  the  bank,  and  study,  under  Mr.  Berkely's 
care,  in  the  afternoon  and  evening." 

"  I  rejoice  in  your  choice,  my  son,  and  would  willingly  bear 
the  expense  of  your  education,  only  that  it  would  never  do  to 
be  separated  from  your  wife.  I  think,  perhaps,  it  would  be 
better  for  you  to  continue  at  the  bank  for  this  year;  for  the 
next  year,  you  could  go  to  the  Seminary,  and  you  can  board 
with  Eveleen  near  the  institution.  I  will  bear  all  the  expenses 
cheerfully." 

"Thank  you,  dear  father.  I  will  now  make  known  my 
wishes  to  Mr.  Berkely  and  my  wife,  and  I  doubt  not  that  God 
will  give  us  his  blessing." 

After  an  hour  spent  in  the  joys  of  reunion,  Frank  and 
Eveleen,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Austin,  returned  to  their  sweet 
little  home,  happy  in  the  prospect  of  family  harmony. 

"  Dear  mother,  is  there  any  hope  that  father  will  ever 
forgive  me?"  whispered  Eveleen,  when  alone  with  her  mother. 

"  I  think  so,  my  child,  though  it  will  not  do  to  say  too  much  ; 
time  will  cure  all." 

The  mother  was  delighted  with  the  neat  housekeeping  of  her 


WOODBINE  COTTAGE,  281 

daughter,  and  wondered  how  she  could  have  learned  so  much  ; 
but  when  she  saw  the  devotion  of  the  young  pair  to  each  other, 
she  felt  that  affection  had  been  the  teacher,  and  had  drawn  out 
all  the  capabilities  of  her  woman's  heart, 

When  in  the  retirement  of  her  own  room,  Eveleen  said, 
"Frank,  do  you  not  think  that  Gerald  is  very  cold  to  Edith? 
His  manner  is  very  singular,  and  if  I  did  not  know  better,  I 
should  certainly  say  that  Blanche  is  the  chosen  idoL" 

"  I  thought  so  myself,  Evy ;  but  we  must  remember  that 
Gerald  is  a  worshipper  of  beauty;  he  may  only  admire  her 
as  an  artist.  I  cannot  think  it  possible  that  any  one  who 
has  ever  loved  Edith  could,  for  one  moment,  think  of 
Blanche." 

"  That  depends  entirely  upon  the  person,  Frank,"  said  his 
little  wife.  "  My  own  opinion  is,  that  Edith  is  too  lofty  for 
Gerald ;  I  do  not  think  that  he  can  sympathize  with  her  fer- 
vent nature.  If  I  mistake  not,  there  are  more  bonds  of  sym- 
pathy between  Gerald  and  Blanche." 

"  I  should  be  sorry,  Eveleen,  for  I  know  the  depth  and 
purity  of  Edith's  heart,  and  she  has  loved  Gerald  Fortescue 
all  her  life ;  if  he  disappoints  her,  her  heart  will  be  a  withered 
thing." 

Both  felt  strong  apprehensions,  for  they  saw  much,  in  their 
visits  at  Ravenswood,  to  lead  them  to  fear  for  Edith.  When 
Frank  communicated  his  desires  to  Eveleen  with  regard  to  the 
ministry,  she  encouraged  him,  although  she  said,  "  Who  would 
have  thought  that  gay  little  Eveleen  Austin  would  ever  have 
been  the  wife  of  a  minister?  But  there  are  strange  things 
happening  around  us.  I  am  sure,  Frank,  that  you  will  do  a 
great  deal  of  good." 

On  the  Sunday  after  this  communication,  it  was  a  communion 
season.  Eveleen  felt  more  and  more  keenly  the  separation 
which  existed  between  herself  and  her  husband,  in  these  holy 
bonds.  On  this  day,  when  she  saw  Frank  approaching  the 
table  without  her,  her  spirit  was  deeply  touched,  and,  as  the 
congregation  left  the  church,  she  remembered  Coxe's  beautiful 
lines ; 


282  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  The  organ  played  sweet  music. 

While  as,  on  Easter  day, 
All  heartless  from  the  altar, 

The  heedless  went  away  : 
And  down  the  broad  aisle  crowding 

They  seemed  a  funeral  train, 
That  were  burying  their  spirits 

To  the  music  of  that  strain. 

"  Oh,  the  soul-dirge,  how  it  echoed 

The  emptied  aisles  along, 
As  the  open  street  grew  crowded 

With  the  full  and  pouring  throng! 
And  then — again  the  voices; 

Ha !  the  soul-dirge !  hear  it  play! 
And  the  pensive,  pensive  whisper, 

'  Will  ye  also  go  away  ?' " 

"Will  ye  also  go  away?"  thought  Eveleen ;  "and  from  whom  ? 
from  my  bleeding  Saviour?"  Wider  became  the  distance  be- 
tween the  husband  and  wife.  Loving  and  affectionate  as  they 
still  were,  they  both  felt  that  there  was  one  subject  on  which 
there  was  no  heartfelt  sympathy,  and  that,  the  dearest,  highest, 
holiest  which  can  interest  an  immortal  being. 

Since  Eveleen's  reconciliation  with  her  mother,  many  com- 
forts had  been  added  to  their  establishment,  and,  to  her  great 
delight,  her  piauo  among  the  rest.  But  her  fears  were  much 
excited  for  Frank's  health  when  she  found  that,  after  his  day's 
toil  at  the  bank,  he  spent  so  many  hours  at  his  studies.  His 
education  had  been  thorough,  his  talents  were  superior,  and  Mr. 
Berkely  looked  forward  to  his  ordination  with  peculiar  satis- 
faction ;  but  his  wife  was  alarmed  when  she  saw  his  incessant 
application,  and  obtained  from  him  a  promise  that  he  would 
always  devote  his  evenings,  until  bed-time,  to  her.  This 
promise  he  faithfully  kept,  but  frequently  the  midnight  hour 
saw  him  still  at  his  studies. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  year  at  Woodbine  Cottage,  another 
life  was  added  to  the  household,  and  Eveleen  named  her 
darling  boy  Frank,  after  his  father.  It  was  a  source  of  the 
purest  delight,  and  after  the  ad  vent  of  the  little  stranger  Eveleen's 


WOODBINE   COTTAGE.  283 

character  appeared  to  deepen ;  the  holy  responsibilities  of  a 
mother  awakened  all  that  was  fervent  in  her  nature.  She 
realized  that  none  but  a  Christian  could  possibly  perform  these 
sacred  obligations,  and  she  sought  and  found  that  grace  which 
she  so  much  needed.  Bound  together  by  new  and  holier  ties 
henceforth  they  pursued  their  pilgrim  path  together,  partaking 
of  the  same  joys,  sustained  by  the  same  blessed  hopes. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

IS     IT    MADGE1? 

PEEP  into  Madge's  journal  will  depict  her  feel- 
ings after  her  convalescence. 

"They  say  that  I  am  better,  but  I  am  very 
weak.  So  many  visions  of  death  and  eternity 
pass  before  me  that  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  am 
approaching  the  spirit-land ;  and  what  if  I  am  ? 
Am  I  prepared  to  meet  my  Saviour?  How  long 
have  I  been  sick?  They  say  it  is  but  a  few  weeks ; 
it  seems  to  me  like  months.  So  much  has  passed  in  the  his- 
tory of  my  soul ;  such  hours  of  abasement !  such  a  falling  of 
the  scales  from  my  eyes  I  such  revelations  of  my  pride  and 
arrogance!  such  hardness  of  heart  to  my  Heavenly  Father ! 
such  ingratitude  to  my  father,  to  Edith,  and  to  Ralph !  How 
could  I  ever  say  that  my  mother  neglected  me  ?  Nothing  but 
the  dark  clouds  of  jealousy  could  have  obscured  the  sunshine 
of  her  love.  How  could  I  be  so  misled  by  Josephine? 

"  Where  have  I  seen  any  of  the  boasted  philanthropy  of 
these  Socialists?  Forsaken  by  Josephine,  neglected  by  the 
whole  society,  the  disciples  of  the  blessed  Jesus  have  taken 
me  in,  and,  like  the  good  Samaritan,  have  poured  oil  into  my 
wounds.  The  instructions  of  my  early  years  have  all  re- 
turned ;  they  have  visited  me  in  the  night-watches,  and  whis- 
pered their  blessed  lessons  of  peace,  and  truth,  and  love.  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  been  travelling  over  high,  steep  mountain 
284 


IS   IT   MADGE?  285 

through  gloomy  ravines,  with  dark  clouds  looming  constantly 
over  my  head,  searching  for  something  in  the  distance,  which 
was  ever  eluding  my  grasp  ;  falling  into  deep  chasms,  tearing 
my  hands,  and  lacerating  my  feet  in  my  endeavors  to  extricate 
myself,  until,  like  a  poor,  weary  traveller,  I  see  light  in  the 
distance ;  now  it  comes  nearer  and  nearer.  I  have  long  ago 
laid  down  the  weapons  of  my  rebellion.  My  pride  is  abased, 
and  I  see  the  silver  thread  which  leads  me  to  my  Saviour !  I 
want  rest ;  rest  for  my  wearied  spirit.  O,  Ralph !  I  want  to 
tell  you  all.  I  shall  be  cold  and  hard  no  more.  0 !  just  to 
see  your  noble  face,  once  again  ;  just  to  ask  forgiveness  ;  just 
to  hear  your  voice, — your  clear  manly  tones!  Their  very 
sound  would  strengthen  me.  If  God  spares  my  life,  what  a 
different  course  shall  I  pursue !  If  he  will  only  restore  me  to 
Edith,  how  sweet  it  will  be  to  aid  her  in  her  noble  deeds  of 
humble  charity !  There  shall  I  find  abundant  occupation  for 
all  the  talents  which  God  has  given  me,  and  then  Ralph  will 
counsel  me;  his  strong  arm  will  uphold  me;  his  clear  intellect 
will  guide  me ;  his  manly  piety  will  cheer  me.  What  a  bless- 
ing to  have  such  a  friend  !  I  have  deserved  none  of  these 
things.  I  have  merited  God's  displeasure,  and  I  receive  no- 
thing at  his  hands  but  goodness.  Shall  I  not  devote  myself, 
with  all  that  I  have,  and  all  that  I  am,  to  his  service  ?  Dear 
sainted  mother's  prayers  are  answered  at  last.  I  feel  that  in 
God's  own  good  time  all  our  dear  family  will  be  gathered  home 
to  heaven.  And  where  now  is  Ralph  ?" 

After  his  conversation  with  the  stranger,  he  was  fully  con- 
vinced that  he  had  traced  the  wanderer,  and  said,  "  O,  Madge ! 
have  I  waited  for  you  so  long,  and  shall  I  find  you  suffering? 
Or,  perhaps,  you  are  no  more  among  us.  But  no,  I  feel  that 
you  are  coming,  Madge ;  coming  back  to  Ralph,  to  your  home, 
to  God."  With  these  hopeful  thoughts,  after  writing  a  few 

hasty  lines  to  Edith,  without  further  delay  he  set  off  for  P , 

travelling  night  and  day. 

When  he  arrived  in  sight  of  the  Institution,  he  was  almost 
afraid  to  enter:  it  had  a  gloomy  appearance,  embowered 
thickly  in  dark  trees,  the  windows  closed.  His  heart  misgave 


286  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

him.  With  a  trembling  hand  he  rang  the  bell,  and  asking  for 
Miss  Fortescue,  that  lady  made  her  appearance,  and  received 
him  with  a  stiff  bow. 

"Can  you  give  me  any  information  concerning  Miss  Clif- 
ford?" asked  Ralph. 

"She  has  left  us,"  answered  Josephine,  haughtily.  "She 
has  proved  herself  an  unworthy  disciple  of  our  society,  and  I 
know  nothing  about  her." 

"Do  you  not  know  that  she  is  ill?"  asked  Ralph,  indig- 
nantly. 

"  I  have  heard  something  of  the  kind ;  but  I  have  washed 
my  hands  of  her  entirely,"  replied  Josephine. 

"  Can  it  be  possible  that,  calling  yourself  a  woman,  you 
could  abandon  the  poor  misguided  girl  in  a  strange  place  to 
such  a  fate  ?  That  you  could  forsake  her,  suffering,  perhaps 
dying,  and  you  the  person  who  led  her  from  her  home  and  her 
duty !" 

Josephine  placed  herself  indignantly  before  Ralph,  and, 
extending  her  arm  in  a  threatening  attitude,  said,  "  Beware, 
how  you  use  such  language  to  me.  I  will  not  bear  it!"  and 
ringing  the  bell,  she  directed  a  servant  to  show  this  man  the 
door,  and  haughtily  swept  from  the  room.  Ralph  then  in- 
quired for  Mr.  Harper,  and  finding  the  parsonage,  he  waited 
impatiently  in  the  parlor.  "While  seated  there,  he  observed  a 
familiar  book  ;  opening  it,  on  the  first  page  he  observed  the 
name  of  Madge  in  a  well-known  hand.  His  eye  was  next 
attracted  by  a  portfolio ;  he  opened  it,  when  a  number  of 
scraps  of  poetry  fell  out,  all  breathing  a  tone  of  sadness,  and 
signed  by  the  same  familiar  name.  In  a  few  minutes,  Mrs. 
Harper  entered  the  parlor. 

"I  called,  madam,"  said  he,  "to  inquire  fora  young  lady 
named  Margaret  Crawford.  Is  such  a  person  here  ?" 

"She  is,"  replied  the  kind  lady;  "she  has  been  very  ill, 
but,  we  trust,  is  now  convalescent,  although  feeble  still;  she  is 
just  beginning  to  sit  up." 

"  Can  I  see  her  ?"  asked  Ralph. 

'  Will  you  send  your  name,  sir  ?" 


IS   IT    MADGE?  287 

Taking  his  card,  Mrs.  Harper  left  the  room,  and  quickly 
returned,  with  permission  for  him  to  enter.  He  knocked 
at  the  door.  A  very  faint  voice  said,  "  Come  in,"  and  on  en- 
tering, he  was  so  shocked  at  the  sight  which  met  his  gaze,  that 
he  could  but  exclaim,  "  Can  this  be  Madge  ?"  It  was,  indeed, 
but  O,  how  changed !  Seated  in  an  easy  chair,  propped  up  by 
pillows,  the  bright  eyes  were  dimmed,  the  rich,  clear  complexion 
pale  and  haggard,  the  luxuriant  hair  cropped,  and  her  form 
withered  to  nothing. 

On  extending  her  poor  little  wasted  hand,  Ralph  could  not 
refrain  from  dropping  a  large  tear  upon  the  trembling  fingers. 
Raising  her  swimming  eyes  to  his  face,  she  could  not  speak  for 
some  minutes,  and  when  she  did,  it  was  with  a  choked  utter- 
ance that  she  said,  "  O,  Ralph !  how  I  have  waited  for  you  ! 
I  knew  that  you  would  come,  but  O,  how  long  it  has  seemed ! 
Weary  nights  and  tiresome  days  I  have  spent  in  watching  for 
you,  and  now  I  feel  as  if  my  toilsome  watch  is  ended,  and  I  am 
at  peace." 

Folding  her  little  hands  together,  while  the  large  tears 
rolled  down  her  pallid  countenance,  her  head  dropped,  but  it 
was  supported  on  Ralph's  shoulder,  who  said,  tenderly,  "It 
has  been  a  long  vigil  to  me,  Madge,  but  I  always  said  you 
would  return,  even  when  you  were  so  cold  and  haughty.  I 
knew  the  warm  throbbings  of  that  little  heart  would  seek  a 
haven  of  rest  at  last." 

"  Ralph,  you  are  too  good,"  replied  Madge.  "  I  deserve 
nothing  but  reproaches,  and  I  receive  only  kindness.  Can  you 
forgive  me,  Ralph,  for  the  ingratitude  which  I  have  shown  to 
you?" 

"  You  have  been  forgiven  long  ago,  Madge.  I  knew  that 
you  were  misled,  and  that  our  Father  would  bring  you  back 
again.  Have  you  found  peace  in  the  Redeemer,  Madge  ?" 

"  I  trust  so  ;  I  have  no  hope  of  pardon  but  through  his  merits. 
All  I  desire  is  to  be  his  forever." 

Madge  was  full  of  questions  concerning  the  dear  family  circle. 
When  she  heard  the  tidings  of  Frank's  return  to  his  home,  of 
his  sweet  wife,  and  of  his  present  holy  life,  she  was  overpowi-ivd 


288  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

with  feeling,  and  said,  "  O  Ralph !  is  not  God  good  to  us  ?  One 
by  one,  he  is  bringing  us  home." 

"  When  do  you  think  that  you  will  be  able  to  travel  ?"  asked 
Ralph. 

"  I  shall  recover  my  strength  rapidly  now,"  replied  Madge. 
"Now  that  my  heart  is  relieved,  I  think  that  in  about  a  week 
we  can  set  off.  I  am  so  anxious  to  get  home." 

Unwearied  in  his  attentions,  he  watched  over  the  young  girl, 
and  so  soon  as  it  was  considered  safe,  prepared  to  return.  With 
many  thanks  to  the  dear  friends  who  had  been  so  kind  to  the 
sick  young  stranger,  they  took  their  departure,  and  travelled 
slowly,  resting  sometimes  a  whole  day,  before  it  was  deemed 
advisable  to  proceed.  At  the  end  of  two  weeks  they  arrived 
in  sight  of  home.  Madge  had  been  absent  for  more  than  a 
year.  It  was  now  the  day  before  Christmas.  Edith  had 
heard  from  Ralph,  who  led  her  to  hope  that  they  might  be 
with  them  on  Christmas  eve.  The  household  were  full  of  eager 
anticipation.  The  Christmas  weaths  were  hung  in  the  drawing- 
room  and  library  ;  holly  boughs,  with  their  red  berries,  mingled 
with  laurel,  adorned  the  hall ;  glowing  fires  were  kindled  in  the 
rooms;  lights  blazed  everywhere,  and  a  look  of  joyous  expecta- 
tion beamed  in  every  countenance.  Uncle  Peter  was  constantly 
on  the  look-out ;  nurse  bustled  about  in  her  best  silk  dress  and 
new  Christmas  cap  ;  Aunt  Priscilla  was  busy,  making  the  large 
pound-cake  ;  and  Mr.  Clifford,  wrapped  in  his  furs,  was  rest- 
lessly pacing  the  piazza. 

"  O,  massa,  there  comes  a  carriage!"  said  Uncle  Peter. 
"  Can  that  be  Miss  Madge  ?" 

The  carriage  drove  up  rapidly,  and  was  found  to  contain 
Frank  and  his  family,  who  had  come  to  spend  the  holidays  at 
home.  There  was  somewhat  of  a  shade  of  disappointment  on 
the  father's  face,  who  was  so  eagerly  looking  for  his  daughter. 
The  dinner  hour  had  passed,  still  no  Madge:  it  was  feared  that 
she  would  not  arrive  that  day.  Towards  evening,  Edith,  who 
was  watching  eagerly,  perceived  a  carriage,  with  a  large  quan- 
tity of  baggage,  coming  slowly  up  the  avenue.  Her  heart  gave 
one  bound,  almost  sick  with  mingled  feelings  of  joy  and  fear. 


IS   IT  MADGE?  289 

When  it  drew  near,  she  saw  a  pale  face,  supported  on  the 
shoulder  of  Ralph  Cameron,  and  in  another  minute  the  car- 
riage-door opened,  and  lifting  out  the  wasted  form,  that  seemed 
no  heavier  than  a  child,  silently  he  gave  her  into  the  arms  of 
her  sister. 

"  Dearest  Madge,  welcome  home !"  whispered  Edith,  with 
feelings  almost  too  strong  for  utterance  ;  and  as  Madge  turned 
upon  her  those  beautiful  eyes,  now  swimming  in  tears  of  tender- 
ness, and  answered,  "Let  us  thank  God,  Edith,  for  all  his 
goodness,"  the  good  sister  felt  as  if  the  evil  spirit  had  departed, 
and  that,  in  her  right  mind,  Madge  had  been  restored ;  but,  as 
she  looked  upon  her  face  and  withered  form,  she  feared,  to  die. 
Leading  her  into  the  house,  she  was  received  in  the  arms  of  her 
father,  and  folded  to  Frank's  heart  with  fervent  love.  Eveleen, 
who  had  heard  her  sad  story,  welcomed  her  warmly,  for  her 
husband's  sake,  and  the  twins  felt  that  a  new  feature  of  joy  was 
added  to  the  happiness  of  Christmas  eve.  Seated  in  the  library, 
where  they  had  so  often  met  before,  its  bright  bituminous  fire 
imparted  a  fresh  glow  to  the  happy  faces  that  welcomed  the 
young  wanderer,  and  illumined  a  beautiful  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Clifford,  that  seemed  to  smile  upon  the  joyous  reunion.  Edith, 
raising  a  curtain  that  concealed  a  table,  at  the  end  of  the  room, 
disclosed  the  gifts  prepared  for  the  occasion.  In  the  excitement, 
it  had  almost  been  forgotten  that  Madge  was  a  weary  traveller. 
Taking  her  to  her  room,  Edith  aided  her  in  unrobing,  and 
after  taking  some  slight  refreshment,  persuaded  her  to  lie 
down. 

After  a  short  sleep,  dressing  for  supper,  she  returned  to  the 
family  circle,  and  entering  the  library,  lay  on  the  sofa,  while 
Edith  distributed  the  gifts  of  love.  Expecting  Madge,  each 
had  prepared  her  a  little  offering.  She  received  them  tearfully, 
saying,  "  How  could  I  ever  wander  from  this  home  of  love,  to 
freeze  among  such  icebergs  as  I  have  been  with  ?"  She  was 
delighted  with  all  her  gifts,  especially  Eveleen's,  which  was  a 
very  handsome  gilt  morocco  needle-book,  completely  furnished 
with  gold  thimble,  scissors,  &c.  "  I  thank  you,  dear  sister," 
said  Madge.  "I  wish  to  learn  how  to  use  these  skilfully,  and 
19 


290  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

shall  often  come  to  you  for  lessons  in  the  accomplishment."  A 
handsome  set  of  the  British  Poets  was  the  gift  of  Ralph  Came- 
ron, who  had  been  in  the  secret ;  from  her  f'athei*,  a  pretty  work- 
table  ;  from  Edith,  a  handsome  wrapper,  and  chamber-slippers, 
the  work  of  her  own  hand ;  from  Blanche  and  Adele,  a  hand- 
some pin  and  bracelets,  with  their  own  hair ;  from  Frank,  a 
portfolio.  Little  Lilly,  who  was  at  home  for  Christmas,  had 
not  forgotten  her  offering,  and  had  knit  a  beautiful  nubia ;  and 
little  Emily  had  presented  a  small  Bible.  Though  so  pale  and 
languid,  a  soft  glow  of  happiness  beamed  from  the  eyes  and 
illumined  the  whole  face  of  Madge  Clifford  ;  and  all  who  looked 
upon  her  felt  that  a  new  life  shone  out  of  those  lustrous  eyes, 
and  trembled  around  the  large,  though  speaking  mouth.  Look- 
ing around  the  dear  household  room,  she  took  Edith's  hand, 
and  while  she  kissed  it  affectionately,  said,  "  At  home,  dear 
sister,  to  wander  no  more.  O,  how  often  have  I  thought  of  all 
your  goodness ;  and  of  you,  dear  Miss  Arnold,  how  powerful 
have  been  the  lessons  which  I  have  heard  from  you  !  When  I 
contrasted  the  humble  piety,  the  sweet  feminine  graces  of  this 
happy  circle,  with  the  bold  effrontery  of  the  masculine  women 
with  whom  I  have  been  associated,  I  wonder  that  I  could  ever 
have  been  deluded  by  their  follies  ;  but  my  besetting  sins,  pride 
of  intellect  and  arrogance,  led  me  astray,  and  I  desire  now  to 
seek,  above  all  things,  for  deep  humility." 

Under  the  kind  and  watchful  care  of  her  sister,  Madge 
recovered  rapidly,  the  proud  spirit  seemed  wholly  subdued, 
and,  under  the  faithful  instruction  of  Ralph  Cameron,  she 
exhibited  daily  more  and  more  of  the  docile,  teachable  spirit 
of  a  true  disciple.  When  absent  in  the  city,  he  left  her  well 
supplied  with  a  course  of  reading,  which  she  earnestly  pursued. 
Her  mind  appeared  to  recover  its  tone,  as  her  health  became 
better.  Eagerly  she  watched  for  the  weekly  return  of  her 
friend,  and  might  always  be  seen  at  the  old  elm  tree,  watching 
for  Ralph's  approach.  The  winter  passed  rapidly  away,  and 
the  spring  dawned  upon  the  family  at  Ravens  wood  with  pecu- 
liar brightness.  Seated  one  morning  at  her  chamber  window, 
Madge  spied  the  first  fresh  violets,  and  running  down  to  the 


IS  IT   MADGE?  291 

lawn,  their  sweet  fragrance  brought  back  the  memory  of  her 
mother,  for  it  was  the  custom  of  her  children  to  gather  them 
for  her  so  soon  as  they  appeared;  and  each  vied  with  the 
other  in  efforts  to  be  the  first  with  their  fragrant  offering. 
Now,  that  dear  parent  was  laid  in  the  silent  grave,  and  Madge 
could  but  drop  repentant  tears  over  the  sweet  flowers,  when 
she  remembered  how  seldom  she  had  been  among  the  eager 
group  that  brought  the  gift  of  love ;  but  now  her  warm  affec- 
tions, once  enkindled,  clung  around  her  sister  Edith,  and 
gathering  the  modest  violets,  she  laid  them  on  her  sister's 
dressing-table,  with  a  little  note,  breathing  a  sister's  love, 
and  signed  "  Repentant  Madge."  Winter  had  passed  from 
Madge  Clifford's  heart,  the  bonds  of  ice  had  thawed  beneath 
the  power  of  a  Saviour's  love,  and  spring,  with  all  its  sweet 
buds  aud  blossoms,  its  singing  birds  and  purling  streams,  had 
dawned  in  its  stead,  and  commenced  its  happy  reign  in  the 
young  bosom. 

On  Saturday  evening,  her  airy  little  figure  might  generally 
be  seen,  with  eager  step  walking  down  the  broad  avenue  of 
elms,  in  anxious  expectation  of  her  friend.  On  one  of  these 
occasions  she  had  taken  her  usual  walk,  and  was  seated  under 
the  old  elm,  waiting  for  Ralph's  appearance.  In  a  short  time, 
a  manly  figure,  waving  his  hand,  was  seen  rapidly  approaching, 
and  in  a  few  minutes,  Madge,  leaning  on  his  arm,  turned  down 
to  their  favorite  haunt  on  the  river-shore. 

"Well,  Madge,  how  has  the  reading  progressed  this 
week?" 

"  I  have  finished  the  volume  which  you  left,  and  will  show 
you  my  notes  when  we  get  home.  Then  I  have  been  very 
busy,  helping  Edith  in  her  family  concerns;  in  reading  the 
paper  for  father,  teaching  in  the  parish  school,  in  my  turn,  and 
visiting  sister's  pensioners.  Indeed,  Ralph,  the  weeks  are  all 
too  short  for  me  now." 

Looking  affectionately  upon  the  young  girl,  Ralph  replied, 
"Is  not  your  busy  life,  now  so  fully  occupied  in  active, 
ennobling  duties,  much  happier  than  your  former  dreamy 
existence  ?" 


292  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Madge;  "and  whom  shall  I  thank, 
Ralph,  but  you,  my  brother,  my  friend?  If  you  had  forsaken 
me,  where  should  I  have  been  ?" 

Madge  carried  her  portfolio  in  her  hand,  for,  concealing 
nothing  from  Kalph,  she  frequently  submitted  her  scraps  to  his 
inspection.  When  seated  on  the  shore,  she  directed  Ralph's 
attention  to  the  beautiful  Hudson,  as  it  flowed  so  gently  at 
their  feet,  and  opening  her  portfolio,  handed  him  the  few  lines 
which  it  had  called  forth : 

The  music  of  your  rippling  waves 

Will  often  soothe  the  memory's  ear, 
When,  'midst  the  din  of  earthly  care, 

I  long  your  gentle  voice  to  hear: 
Your  shady  banks,  your  placid  breast, 

Cooling  the  fever  of  my  brow : 
I  oft  shall  long  to  kiss  your  waves, 

As  the  light  oar  is  kissing  now. 
Flow  on,  flow  on,  thou  gentle  stream, 

Bear  on  thy  bosom  other  hearts, 
And  be  to  them  the  charmed  voice 

Which  bids  discordant  thoughts  depart. 

"Those  are  very  expressive  lines,  Madge.  They  describe  the 
effect  of  the  lovely  river.  It  often  discourses  very  sweet 
music." 

"  There  is  one  subject  upon  which  I  wish  to  ask  your  advice," 
said  Madge,  timidly.  "  I  think  that  I  am  really  changed.  I 
have  entirely  cast  away  all  my  skeptical  follies.  I  desire  to 
serve  God  all  the  days  of  my  life,  and  think  that  I  ought 
openly  to  profess  his  name.  What  do  you  think  of  it, 
Ralph?" 

"  I  am  truly  gratified  to  hear  you  say  so,  for  I  wished  the 
proposition  to  come  from  yourself.  I  have  great  confidence 
in  the  reality  of  your  change,  and  doubt  not  that  you  will 
be  a  welcome  guest  at  the  Redeemer's  table.  Now,  dear 
Madge,  how  sweet  is  the  bond  which  henceforth  unites  us, — 
one  Lord,  one  heaven,  one  home!  Let  us  pursue  our  pil- 
grim path  together."  Taking  the  little  hand  in  his  own. 
while  he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he  invoked  God's  richest 


18   IT   MADGE?  293 

blessing  upon  the  youthful  Christiau.  They  walked  home 
quietly.  The  birds  sang  their  evening  song  from  every 
Iree;  the  sun  gradually  declined,  tinging  hill,  and  sky,  and 
water,  with  his  glories,  while  the  boatman  sang  his  home- 
ward song,  as  he  gently  rowed  down  the  placid  river.  All 
sounds  and  sights  were  serene,  soothing,  peaceful,  in  perfect 
accordance  with  the  blissful  thoughts  that  filled  the  hearts 
of  Ralph  and  his  young  companion.  When  Madge  com- 
municated her  wishes  to  Edith,  she  received  her  warmest 
approval.  Folding  her  affectionately  in  her  arms,  she  whis- 
pered, "  Madge,  is  not  ours  a  faithful  God  ?  One  by  one 
coming  home  to  him ;  now  we  are  sisters  indeed."  So  marked 
was  the  change  in  the  young  girl,  that,  as  they  observed  her 
gentle,  subdued,  loving  deportment,  could  not  but  ask,  "Can 
this,  indeed,  be  Madge  Clifford  ?  Once  so  haughty,  so  sullen, 
so  rebellious !  Now  so  gentle,  so  loving,  so  kind  !" 

Mr.  Clifford  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  greatness  of  the 
transformation,  and  could  not  doubt  that  it  was  all  divine.  A 
bright  Sabbath  dawned  upon  Ravenswood.  It  was  the  day  of 
Madge's  first  communion;  and  when  Ralph  approached  the 
table  in  company  with  the  young  girl,  it  was  a  happy  moment, 
for  he  felt  that  there  was  sealed  a  bond  which  bound  them  to 
Christ  forever.  Edith,  Miss  Arnold,  Frank,  Eveleen,  Madge, 
and  Ralph,  all  bowed  together  at  the  Saviour's  board  ;  and  as 
the  faithful  sister  felt  herself  thus  surrounded,  sweet  were  the 
visions  of  future  glory  in  store  for  those  who  loved  God  and 
she  blessed  renewed ly  the  sister's  solemn  vow  which  had 
brought  such  holy  fruits.  It  is  true  that  Gerald  was  not  there, 
for  his  attendance  upon  the  ordinances  of  the  Gospel  was  fitful : 
this  was  a  severe  trial  of  her  faith,  but  she  laid  even  this  at 
Jesus'  feet,  and  he  bore  the  burden  for  her.  From  this  day 
the  course  of  Madge  Clifford  was  onward,  upward ;  and  though 
the  old  man  strove  for  the  mastery,  and  the  old  pride  of  her 
heart  tempted  her  sorely,  yet  she  had  really  buckled  on  the 
Christian's  armor,  and  in  Jesus'  name  she  conquered. 

As  light  dawned  increasingly  upon  her  path,  the  old  moodi- 
ness  passed  away ;  she  became  cheerful,  loving,  and  even  gay. 


294  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Indeed,  it  sometimes  seemed  that  she  was  just  beginning  to 
know  a  little  of  her  joys  of  childhood,  for  Madge  had  never 
been  like  a  child ;  but  now,  its  sweet  simplicity  and  sportive- 
ness  seemed,  for  the  first  time,  to  shine  out  of  her  young  heart. 
Under  the  influence  of  her  new  motive  of  action,  her  talents 
shone  out  in  all  their  natural  brightness ;  but  they  shone  no 
more  for  herself,  but  for  her  Divine  Master.  Many  were  the 
hours  of  heart-communion  between  herself  and  Ralph  Cam. 
eron,  for  she  was  no  longer  ashamed  to  be  directed  by  a 
stronger  spirit  than  a  clearer  intellect. 

"What  would  you  advise  me,  Ralph,  with  regard  to  my 
pen?"  one  day  asked  Madge.  "Do  you  think  it  unadvisable 
for  a  woman  to  write  ?" 

"  By  no  means,  Madge,"  replied  her  friend.  "  Where  God 
has  given  peculiar  talents,  they  are  to  be  exercised,  but  for  his 
glory." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Ralph,  for  I  feel  so  impelled 
to  use  my  pen,  that  really  it  would  be  a  severe  trial  for  me  to 
lay  it  by.  I  have  been,  for  a  long  time,  writing  a  tale,  which 
I  have  never  shown  to  you  ;  but  now  I  want  your  opinion.  If 
you  think  it  will  do  any  good,  I  will  finish  it,  and  then  your 
revision  will  be  very  useful  to  me ;  but  if  I  ever  publish  it,  it 
will  be  with  a  fictitious  name.  I  would  not,  personally, 
encounter  public  criticism." 

"  I  will  give  you  my  candid  opinion,  Madge.  If  disapproved, 
could  you,  willingly,  give  up  the  idea  of  publishing?" 

Madge  raised  her  eyes  to  Ralph's  face,  beaming  with  ten- 
derness, and  replied,  "  It  would  be  a  trial,  Ralph,  but  if  you 
say  so,  I  will  cheerfully  give  it  up.  Your  judgment  is  always 
best." 

Ralph  was  deeply  affected  by  this  sweet,  womanly  confi- 
dence, and  turning  upon  her  a  look  which  made  her  drop 
her  eyes,  said,  "  Madge,  have  you  ever  thought  what  is  the 
secret  of  the  interest  which,  for  these  many  years,  I  have  felt 
in  you  ?" 

"I  have  always  thought  that  it  was  a  wonderful  thing  that 
a  young  man  like  you,  Ralph,  should  have  been  so  forbearing, 


IS   IT   MADGE?  295 

towards  a  wilful  child;  so  kind  towards  a  perverse,  rebellious 
girl ;  so  hopeful,  so  constant,  in  the  darkest  days  of  my  banish- 
ment." 

"Now  listen  unto  me,  Madge,  for  the  time  has  come  for  the 
history  of  that  interest.  When  first  I  saw  you  at  Ravenswood, 
the  quiet,  reserved,  haughty  child,  I  saw  beneath  the  surface  a 
highly  gifted  genius,  a  heart  warm  and  glowing,  a  soul  born 
for  higher  things  than  the  mere  frivolities  of  fashionable  life, 
and  I  resolved,  Madge,  to  unlock  that  casket,  to  melt  that 
nature,  to  polish  that  diamond.  Even  when  you  had  strayed 
farthest  from  the  paths  of  feminine  propriety,  and  had  cast  off 
the  best  friends  of  your  youth,  though  you  caused  me  so  much 
suffering,  I  never  ceased  to  hope.  You  remember  that  I  told 
you  that  you  would  come  back  to  Ralph  ;  and  has  it  not  been 
so  ?  And  now  I  tell  you,  Madge,  that  I  have  always  loved 
you,  purely,  truly,  fondly,  and  in  the  distance  I  have  pictured 
a  domestic  scene,  where  Madge  Clifford,  restored,  purified,  ele- 
vated, should  preside  as  the  fireside-spirit.  Shall  it  be  so, 
Madge  ?" 

She  had  bowed  her  head  in  speechless  emotion  while  Ralph 
was  speaking,  and  now,  raising  her  speaking  eyes  to  his  face, 
while  her  whole  countenance  was  radiant  with  joy,  she  replied, 
"  Ralph,  I  had  always  thought  it  a  great  honor  to  be  chosen  as 
your  friend,  for  I  could  not  see  why  you  should  pass  by  so 
much  more  lovely  and  attractive ;  but  to  be  your  chosen  com- 
panion for  life,  to  lean  upon  you  always,  to  comfort,  to  cheer, 
to  bless  your  home,  such  honor  is  too  much  for  me.  I  can 
scarcely  believe  what  I  hear,  only  that  I  know  your  noble 
truth." 

"I  mean,  dear  Madge,"  continued  Ralph,  "all  that  I  say. 
I  would  rather  own  this  little  hand  than  that  of  the  most 
peerless  beauty  that  walks  the  earth.  May  I  claim  it  as  my 
own  ?" 

Madge  laid  her  hand  in  Ralph's  warm  grasp,  and  whispered, 
"  Thine,  dear  Ralph,  for  life." 

The  vow  was  given  at  their  favorite  rock  on  the  river-shore, 
where  they  had  spent  so  many  happy  hours  together :  now 


296  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

endeared  more  than  ever  as  the  scene  of  their  betrothal.  It 
was  evening  when  they  returned ;  the  pale  moon  shone  down 
upon  two  happy  hearts,  and  the  evening  star  smiled  upon  their 
union.  Madge  remembered  her  mother,  when  she  looked  upon 
it  from  her  chamber  window,  for  it  had  shone  upon  many  a 
twilight  lesson  in  the  days  of  her  childhood;  now,  she  felt 
assured  that  her  dear  parent  would  have  approved  of  her 
choice,  and  retiring  to  rest,  her  last  thoughts  were  of  the 
kind  Heavenly  Father  who  had  guided  all  her  pilgrim  steps 
in  safety  and  in  peace. 

"  Well,  dear  me !"  said  Uncle  Peter,  "  what  has  come  over 
Miss  Madge?  She  is  always  singing  about  the  house,  like 
a  merry  bird.  I  never  seed  sich  a  change.  I  guess,  how- 
somever,  that  Massa  Ralph  has  something  to  do  with  it,  for 
I'm  sartain  sure  that  he  loves  our  dear  Miss  Madge  more  than 
his  two  eyes."  • 

"I  am  right  glad  of  it,"  answered  old  nurse;  "for  he's  a 
good  man,  and  though  he's  got  an  eagle  eye  and  a  firm  lip,  the 
blessed  Master  keeps  it  all  right,  and  I  know  he'll  make  Miss 
Madge  happy." 

"  That's  what  I  says,"  replied  Uncle  Peter.  "  I  'spect  he's 
got  a  mighty  high  temper,  but  he's  a  good  Christian  for  all 
that ;  for  you  know,  nurse,  there  was  a  mighty  great  difference 
among  our  Lord's  disciples:  Peter  wasn't  like  John,  and -Mat- 
thew wasn't  like  Paul,  but  they  were  alike  in  one  thing, — they 
all  loved  the  blessed  Master,  and  many  on  'em  laid  down  their 
lives  for  his  sake." 

The/aithful  old  servants  rejoiced  in  the  days  of  prosperity, 
and  w'ept  when  sorrow  overtook  any  of  the  house  of  Ravens- 
wood.  Edith  approved,  wholly,  of  her  sister's  choice,  and  Mr. 
Clifford  bestowed  his  warmest  blessing.  When  Ralph  saw  the 
projected  manuscript,  he  was  fully  convinced  that  it  would  be 
a  successful  effort,  and  kindly  spent  many  hours  revising  the 
volume,  in  company  with  Madge.  These  were  pleasant  even- 
ings, for  being  so  near  the  city,  he  often  came  up  from  New 
York  in  the  evening  boat,  and  went  down  in  the  morning. 

•  These  were  happy  seasons,  and,  under  the  influence  of  her 


IS   IT   MADfvE?  297 

new-born  hopes,  Madge  flitted  about  like  a  joyous  bird,  waiting 
on  her  sister,  pouring  out  her  wealth  of  love  on  the  family 
circle.  All  the  power  of  her  fervent  nature  fully  awakened, 
the  sunlight  of  Christian  love  had  taken  full  possession  of  her 
heart,  beamed  in  her  eye,  sparkled  in  her  smile,  and  thrilled 
the  heart,  by  the  sweetness  of  her  rich,  melting  voice.  And 
how  was  it  now  with  Edith?  As  Madge's  hopes  brightened, 
Edith's  gradually  faded :  not  that  Gerald  treated  her  coldly, 
for  he  was  kind,  considerate,  tender,  and  failed  in  none  of 
those  attentions  which  she  knew  to  be  her  due;  but  there  was 
a  felt  difference  in  all.  She  could  not  but  fear  that  these  were 
only  the  results  of  his  convictions  of  duty.  She  saw  that 
he  avoided  Blanche  constantly,  and  that  her  sister's  spirits 
daily  sank.  His  conduct  towards  her  was  ceremonious,  distant, 
polite.  She  frequently  surprised  Blanche  in  tears ;  found  that 
she  had  lost  her  interest  in  general  amusement;  spent  much 
of  her  time  in  her  room,  or  wandering  out  alone,  and  was 
particularly  distant  to  Edith.  What  could  it  all  mean?  Edith 
often  asked  her  heart.  She  would  seek  Blanche,  and  try  to 
obtain  her  confidence :  she  could  not  bear  to  see  her  so  unhappy. 
One  day  she  had  been  peculiarly  sad;  had  eaten  nothing, 
complained  of  not  being  well,  and  early  retired  to  her  room, 
Edith  followed  her  there,  and,  knocking  at  the  door,  Blanche, 
said,  "  Who  is  there  ?" 

"  Tis  I,  Blanche,  your  sister ;  open  the  door." 
When  the  door  opened,  Blanche  returned  to  her  seat  by  the 
window,  in  a  desponding  attitude ;  leaning  her  head  upon  her 
hands,  she  burst  into  tears. 

Edith  advanced,  and  drawing  her  tenderly  towards  her,  said, 
"Blanche,  my  sister,  what  is  the  matter?  Can  I  comfort 
you  ?" 

"Oh,  Edith!  don't  speak  so  kindly;  don't  touch  me;  it 
kills  me,  it  breaks  my  heart :  I  am  so  miserable." 

"Can't  you  confide  in  me,  dearest?" 

"  In  you,  Edith  ?  No — never ;  I  cannot  be  despised  by  my 
sister.  Leave  me  alone  ;  I  can  bear  my  trouble ;  I  deserve  it 
all.  Do  not  ask  me  any  more  questions." 


298  EDITH'S    MINISTRY. 

"Am  I  not  your  sister,  Blanche?  Almost  your  mother? 
Would  it  not  relieve  your  heart  to  confide  in  a  friend?"  an- 
swered Edith. 

"It  is  impossible,  Edith;  you  must  not  know  what  distresses 
me ;  it  would  only  cause  more  misery.  Only  go,  sister,  I  cannot 
bear  to  be  alone  with  you." 

"  What  can  you  mean,  dear  Blanche  ?  Have  you  ceased  to 
love  me  ?"  answered  her  sister. 

"  Ceased  to  love  you !  No,  Edith,  that  can  never  be ;  it  is 
because  I  love  you,  I  venerate  you,  that  I  am  so  miserable.  I 
cannot  bear  to  give  you  pain." 

"  Well,  dear  Blanche,  if  I  cannot  obtain  your  confidence,  I 
can  direct  you  to  a  stronger,  wiser,  better  Friend;  if  you  are  in 
perplexity,  ask  for  wisdom ;  if  in  distress,  ask  for  comfort.  I 
will  remember  you,  dearest,  at  a  throne  of  grace ;"  and  placing 
her  arm  affectionately  around  Blanche,  she  found  that  she 
trembled  violently,  and  shrank  from  her  embrace.  Greatly 
preplexed,  Edith  left  the  room,  wondering  at  the  mysterious 
conduct  of  her  sister. 

These  was  but  one  place  of  refuge  for  Edith  in  her  trials, 
and  thither  she  repaired  for  comfort  and  guidance.  There 
were  many  subjects  of  disquietude  around  her.  Gerald  was 
changed,  evidently  unhappy,  and  neglected  the  house  of  God. 
Edith  felt  that  deeper  shadows  were  gathering  around  her  daily 
life.  Sometimes,  when  drawing  contrasts  between  herself  and 
other  young  persons  of  her  acquaintance,  she  was  tempted  to 
repine,  and  asked  why  she  should  be  called  upon  to  bear  such 
a  heavy  yoke  in  her  youth.  Checking  the  evil  thought,  she 
remembered  that  discipline  must  fit  us  for  the  heavenly  inheri- 
tance, and  that  it  is  "through  much  tribulation  "  that  we  enter 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Gerald,  as  usual,  spent  his  week  in 
New  York,  attending  to  his  profession — he  was  greatly  encour- 
aged ;  his  pictures  attracted  much  attention  among  connoisseurs 
— but  Saturday  evening  always  brought  him  to  Oak  Hall, 
where  he  spent  his  Sundays. 

Filled  with  apprehensions  for  the  one  she  loved,  Edith  re- 
solved to  seek  a  private  interview ;  for,  although  Gerald  had 


IS   IT   MADGE?  299 

not  appeared  to  desire  these  seasons  of  communion  as  formerly, 
yet  duty  led  her,  for  once,  to  lay  aside  the  trammels  of  cere- 
mony. Saturday  evening  came  again,  and  instead  of  coming 
to  Ravenswood  first,  as  he  had  been  accustomed  to  do,  he  went 
to  Oak  Hall,  and  came  over  in  the  evening.  Edith  met  him 
kindly,  Blanche  coldly,  and  Gerald's  salutation  was  much 
embarrassed.  Blanche  retired  in  a  few  minutes,  and  Edith 
was  left  alone  with  the  young  man. 

"Shall  we  walk,  Gerald?"  said  Edith  ;  and  taking  his  arm, 
they  pursued  their  way,  silently,  to  the  old  trysting  spot. 

When  reaching  the  old  tree,  they  seated  themselves,  and 
Edith,  with  a  trembling  voice,  said,  "Gerald,  what  has  come 
between  us?  There  is  something,  some  coldness  has  crept  in 
to  destroy  the  harmony  which  once  existed." 

"  Edith,"  replied  Gerald,  "  I  repeat,  with  greater  force  than 
ever,  that  I  am  wholly  unworthy  of  you ;  you  are  as  far  above 
me  as  heaven  is  above  earth,  and  I  cannot  reach  you.  I  have 
become  worldly,  I  have  lost  my  interest  in  serious  things  ;  my 
heart  is  a  scene  of  wild  disorder." 

"  I  thought  so,  Gerald.  When  you  went  to  New  York  the 
winter  that  my  sisters  did,  I  feared  that  you  would  be  led 
astray  ;  was  it  not  then  ?" 

"  It  was,  Edith.  I  was  led  on  first  because  I  liked  to  be  with 
them,  and  then  I  became  fascinated  with  worldly  pleasures.  I 
forgot  God,  Edith,  I  forgot  my  vow,  and  nothing  is  left  but  the 
stinging  remembrance  of  that  solemn  day  when  we  both  vowed 
to  be  the  Lord's.  Your  path,  since  then,  has  been  that  of  'the 
shining  light,  which  shineth  brighter  and  brighter  until  the 
perfect  day,'  and  my  feet  have  stumbled  on  the  dark  mountains 
of  sin;  and,  would  you  believe  it,  Edith,"  he  whispered 
hoarsely,  "even  of  gloomy  unbelief!" 

"  O  Gerald  !  be  persuaded  to  return  ;  you  cannot  be  happy 
wandering  away  from  God !"  answered  Edith. 

"  O  my  friend,  you  do  not  know  half  of  my  misery ;  you 
never  can.  If  you  would  only  consent  to  be  mine  at  once,  you 
might  save  me,  Edith,  from  unspeakable  sorrow." 

"  You  know,  dear  Gerald,  that  is  impossible.     The  claims 


300  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

of  home  are  binding  upon  me,  and  I  cannot  forsake  my  family; 
but  no  human  arm  can  restore  you  to  paths  of  holiness  ;  none 
but  Jesus  can  meet  the  wants  of  your  soul.  Promise  me, 
Gerald,  to  be  more  punctual  in  your  attendance  upon  Church. 
Go  with  me  to-morrow,  commence  a  new  life.  Remember, 
dear  Gerald,  your  Christian  vows;  humble  yourself  before 
God,  and  he  will  receive  a  prodigal,  coming  back  to  his  Father's 
house." 

Slowly  they  returned  to  the  house,  and  Edith  could  not  but 
contrast  the  anticipations  of  hope  and  love  of  years  gone  by, 
with  the  sad  despondency  which  filled  her  bosom  as  she  paced 
the  same  avenue,  and  watched  the  twilight  scene  from  the  same 
chamber  window.  Clouds  gathered  in  the  horizon.  The  sweet 
murmurs  of  hope  which  rustled  among  the  green  trees 'on  that 
happy  evening  seemed  now  like  the  low  wailings  of  a  sorrowing 
spirit.  The  moon,  which  shed  its  soft  light  upon  the  two  as 
they  stood  on  the  piazza  on  the  evening  of  their  betrothal,  now 
seemed  to  wear  a  mournful  face,  as  it  shone  upon  the  same 
path  and  witnessed  the  altered  feelings  of  the  youthful  pair. 

Sunday  came  again,  with  its  silvery  chimes,  calling  pilgrims 
to  their  father's  board,  with  its  sweet  messages  from  the  skies, 
with  its  chaunted  hymns  and  solemn  worship,  and  with  its 
hopes  of  heaven.  Edith's  peaceful  countenance,  as  she  met 
Gerald,  spoke  of  communion  with  heaven — she  had  been  with 
Jesus — and  when  she  asked  him  to  accompany  her  to  church, 
he  could  not  refuse  the  voice,  which  seemed  almost  like  a 
message  from  the  skies.  All  the  family,  excepting  Blanche 
and  her  father,  accompanied  Edith.  Mr.  Berkely  preached  a 
solemn  sermon,  and  Edith  joined  heartily  in  the  beautii'ul 
hymn, 

"Guide  me,  0  thou  great  Jehovah, 
Pilgrim  through  this  barren  land !" 

She  realized  that  bread  from  heaven  fell  that  day  around  her 
pilgrim  steps.  Sustained  by  the  precious  manna,  she  gathered 
strength  for  her  journey. 

A  new  source  of  anxiety  was  presented  to  her  in  the  exceed- 


IS   IT   MADGE?  301 

ing  delicacy  of  her  brother's  appearance.  After  church  she 
hastened  to  him,  and  said,  "  Dear  Frank,  do  you  not  confine 
yourself  too  much  ?  Remember  that  you  have  a  body  to  take 
care  of  as  well  as  a  soul." 

"  Do  not  be  uneasy,  sister ;  I  do  not  think  that  I  am  very 
much  out  of  health.  Eveleen  watches  me  too  closely  to  let  me 
injure  myself." 

When  Edith  went  home  she  communicated  her  fears  to  her 
father,  and  suggested  the  propriety  of  sending  Frank's  favorite 
horse.  Accordingly,  early  on  Monday  morning,  to  Uncle 
Peter's  great  delight,  he  led  Caesar  over  to  the  cottage,  with  the 
particular  request,  from  Edith  and  her  father,  that  Frank 
would  ride  daily. 

"Well,  old  friend,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Frank,  as  he 
patted  the  animal's  head,  who  gave  sufficient  evidence  that  he 
recognized  his  young  master  by  whinnying,  neighing,  and  paw- 
ing the  ground.  Early  next  morning  Eveleen  saw  that  the 
horse  was  in  waiting,  and  one  hour  each  day  was  thus  redeemed 
from  his  intense  application  to  study.  Under  this  new  course 
his  health  appeared  to  improve.  Little  Frank  became  daily 
more  dear  to  the  young  parents,  and  in  the  sweet  intercourse 
of  holy  affection,  and  in  devotion  to  the  service  of  their  Re- 
deemer, the  little  household  at  Woodbine  Cottage  was  truly  a 
blessed  and  a  happy  family.  Frank  continued  to  pursue  his 
studies,  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Berkely,  for  one  year ;  at  the 
close  of  that  time  the  husband,  wife,  and  child  removed  for  one 

year  to  the  Seminary  at  A ,  closing  their  cottage  until 

their  return.  They  missed  their  pleasant  home,  but,  as  Frank 
knew  that  i^was  important  for  him  to  spend  at  least  one  year 
at  the  Seminary,  he  consented  to  his  father's  arrangement,  who 
paid  the  rent  of  his  humble  home  in  his  absence. 

At  the  appointed  time  he  was  ordained,  and  returned  to 
N ,  as  the  assistant  minister  of  Mr.  Berkely,  it  being  his  par- 
ticular province  to  assist  in  the  services  of  the  parish  church 
in  the  morning,  and  to  preach  in  a  distant  school-house  in  the 
afternoon,  to  a  congregation  of  extremely  poor  and  ignorant 
persons.  Eveleen  interested  herself  greatly  in  this  mission, 


302  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

teaching  on  Sunday,  visiting  through  the  week,  and  by  her 
gentle  ministry  and  unfailing  love,  cheering  and  sustaining 
her  husband.  A  troublesome  cough,  which  she  observed  in 
the  morning,  alarmed  her  not  a  little.  She  urged  the  rides  on 
horseback,  and  watched  carefully ;  but  her  woman's  heart 
trembled  for  the  safety  of  one  whom  she  feared  that  she  nearly 
idolized. 

Frank  was  a  successful  and  popular  minister,  and  his  good 
pastor  hailed  with  delight  his  early  promise  of  future  useful- 
ness. He  had  not  been  long  engaged  in  his  country  parish,  ere 
he  received  several  "calls"  to  more  important  fields  of  labor; 
but  he  judged  wisely  that  companionship  with  Mr.  Berkely 
was  of  incalculable  benefit,  and  for  the  present  he  sought  re- 
tirement. 

Edith  looked  back  upon  her  sister's  vow  with  peculiar  joy, 
when  she  saw  Frank,  Madge,  and  Eveleen,  all  partakers  of  her 
own  blessed  hopes.  Madge  was  very  busy,  in  her  leisure  hoiii^, 
with  her  book ;  Ralph  Avas  deeply  interested,  and  encouraged 
the  young  girl  in  her  effort  to  do  good.  He  could  scarcely 
realize  the  docile,  teachable  girl,  to  be  the  same  wilful  Madge 
of  former  years  ;  but  the  Gospel  had  transformed  her  wholly, 
and  sitting  at  Jesus'  feet,  she  had  learned  humility.  Unkm  wn 
to  Madge,  Ralph  was  also  engaged  in  literary  pursuits ;  for, 
although  a  lawyer  by  profession,  he  found  time  daily  to  indulge 
in  his  favorite  pursuits. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

A    WRECK    UPON    A    SUMMER    STREAM. 

~N  the  meanwhile,  the  dross  of  a  corrupt  nature 
was  in  the  crucible  of  trial,  undergoing  the 
process  of  purification.  The  unseen  Refiner  sat 
closely  by  the  melting  ore,  and  Edith  Clifford's  was 
the  character  upon  which  he  was  now  bestowing  all 
careful  supervision.  She  daily  prayed  for  holiness. 
She  knew  the  plague-spot  of  her  own  heart  to  be 
pride,  hateful  pride,  and  taking  that  heart,  daily,  and 
laying  it  at  Jesus'  feet,  she  was  willing  that  he  should  purify 
it  in  his  own  wise  and  wonderful  manner.  Her  warm  affec- 
tions, her  deep  devotion  of  soul,  were  sources  of  great  tempta- 
tion to  idolatry.  She  had  built  largely  upon  Gerald's  love, 
upon  Gerald's  truth  and  fidelity,  but  she  was  deeply  convinced 
that  her  airy  fabric  was  fading  in  vapor.  She  could  not  tell 
how,  but  her  heart  was  a  faithful  monitor.  The  confidence, 
and  even  playful  familiarity,  which  had  formerly  existed  be- 
tween Gerald  and  Blanche,  had  all  disappeared,  and  a  fitful, 
irregular  conduct,  had  usurped  its  place.  Sometimes  a  degree 
of  tenderness,  that  Edith  was  ashamed  to  acknoAvledge,  dis- 
turbed her;  then,  again,  a  studied  coldness  on  the  part  of 
each.  Sometimes  Gerald  was  even  rude,  then  Blanche  was 
always  sorrowful.  "  What  does  it  all  mean  ?"  thought  Edith. 
She  endeavored,  as  much  as  possible,  to  busy  herself  about 
her  usual  occupations,  her  domestic  cares,  her  sifter  Emily, 

303 


304  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

her  harp,  her  parish  school,  her  pensioners,  which  were  not  a 
few ;  all,  by  turns,  engrossed  her  attention,  and  left  her  but 
little  time  for  fruitless  meditation ;  she  endeavored  to 
commit  all  to  God,  and  left  her  destiny  wholly  in  his  gracious 
hands. 

One  summer  evening  the  young  people  all  started  for  a 
walk  in  the  woods.  The  evening  was  inviting,  and  they  ram- 
bled on  to  the  distance  of  a  mile  from  the  house.  Suddenly, 
the  sky  became  overcast,  the  moon  hid  herself  behind  dark 
clouds,  which  every  moment  became  more  threatening,  until 
the  heavens  were  shrouded  in  blackness.  The  wind  arose t 
first  in  low,  hoarse  murmurs,  but  quickening  rapidly,  in  a  few 
minutes,  it  roared  through  the  forest,  cracking  boughs  of 
trees,  filling  the  air  with  dust,  and  leaves,  and  flying  branches. 
Distant  thunder  muttered  fearful  warning;  vivid  flashes  of 
lurid  lightning  for  a  moment  illumined  the  darkness.  There 
was  every  appearance  of  a  terrific  tempest.  The  very  trees 
rocked.  It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  the  party 
could  keep  their  feet.  Sometimes,  blown  up  against  a  tall 
tree,  the  frightened  females  stood  a  moment  to  regain  their 
strength,  or  to  avoid  some  fearful  blast  that  threatened  to  carry 
them  away. 

"Let  us  go  home,"  said  Edith;  "we  shall  have  a  fearful 
tempest."  She  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words,  when  a  vivi  I 
flash  lit  up  the  dark  woods,  and,  succeeded  by  a  crash  ot 
heaven's  artillery,  blanched  their  faces  with  terror.  The  rain 
descended  in  torrents,  the  wind  increased  in  fury,  flash  after 
flash  blinded  their  eyes,  and  the  pealing  thunder  rattled 
around  them  in  fearful  crashes.  Suddenly,  Blanche  was  lifted 
from  her  feet,  whirled  to  a  considerable  distance,  and  thrown 
violently  upon  the  ground.  Edith  was  near,  and  Gerald,  in 
agony,  bent  over  the  prostrate  girl,  exclaiming  "Blanche!  my 
life  !  my  love!  are  you  hurt?  Speak!  You  will  drive  me  to 
distraction." 

"  Gerald,  leave  me.  I  am  not  much  hurt,  only  my  temple 
is  bruised.  Go,  Gerald,  go  to  E-lith  ;  she  is  in  danger." 

"  Blanche,   Blanche !    do   not   drive   me   away !     I   cannot 


A  WRECK    UPON  A  SUMMER   STREAM.  305 

leave  you ;"  and,  lifting  her  from  the  ground,  he  took  her  in 
his  arms,  and  rushed  on  through  the  tempest,  regardless  of 
any  whom  he  had  left  behind.  Ralph  encircled  Madge  with 
his  strong  arm,  and  Edith,  with  a  bitter  groan,  taking  Adele 
by  the  waist,  said,  "  "We  must  take  care  of  ourselves,  Adele ; 
there  is  fearful  danger."  Several  times  the  pair  were  thrown 
to  the  ground,  or  dashed  against  trees,  but  after  much  effort, 
and  completely  drenched  with  rain,  they  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  house. 

Entering  the  library,  they  found  Blanche,  in  a  fainting 
condition,  extended  on  the  sofa.  She  had  received  a  severe 
blow,  and  the  blood  was  streaming  down  her  beautiful  face, 
now  pale  as  a  breathless  corpse.  Gerald  \vas  leaning  over  her, 
unconscious  of  the  presence  of  others.  "Blanche!  Blanche! 
open  your  eyes  !  Oh!  she  is  dead!  she  is  dead!"  he  exclaimed, 
in  agony. 

Edith  advanced.  Sternly  pushing  him  aside,  she  said,  "Go, 
Gerald.  Let  me  minister  to  my  sister.  You  are  not  fit  to  be 
here.  Leave  the  room." 

She  loosened  the  clothes,  bathed  the  bleeding  temple,  and 
applied  restoratives,  though  her  own  heart  was  bursting  with 
anguish.  A  dark  suggestion  shot  through  her  soul,  as  she 
stood  looking  upon  the  prostrate  form  of  her  beautiful  sister, 
whom  she  now  deeply  felt  was  her  rival.  A  secret,  undefined 
wish,  and  a  feeling  of  disappointment,  when  she  saw  Blanche 
unclose  her  beautiful  eyes,  revealed  to  her  fully  the  nature  of 
that  dark  temptation  which,  for  a  moment, shrouded  her  spirit, 
and  led  her,  almost  involuntarily,  to  lay  her  hand  upon  her 
eyes,  lest  the  secret  iniquity  should  be  disclosed  to  others.  It 
was  the  thought  of  a  second,  hissed  into  her  spirit  by  some 
demon  of  darkness.  Blanche  looked  around  her  wildly. 
"Where  am  I?  Who  struck  me?  O,  Gerald!  dear,  dear 
Gerald,  go  leave  me!"  and  bursting  into  tears,  she  threw  her- 
self upon  Edith's  bosom,  and  wept  convulsively. 

"  Sister,  I  am  hurt  very  much.  My  side  is  very  painful,  and 
my  temple  is  fearfully  cut." 

Upon  examination,  it  was  found  that  a  deep  gash  was  cut 
20 


306  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

above  the  temple,  under  the  hair,  and  that  her  side  was  severely 
bruised.  In  her  agitated  state,  Edith  had  her  conveyed  to 
her  room,  where,  with  a  crushed  and  aching  spirit,  she  sat 
by  and  soothed  the  wretched  girl,  who  continued  to  utter  in- 
coherent cries,  indicating  great  suffering,  which  was  evidently 
chiefly  mental. 

When  Edith  retired  that  night,  deep  was  the  communion  of 
her  spirit  with  her  God  and  Saviour.  She  sought  earnestly  to 
know  his  will,  and  resolved,  when  that  was  done,  meekly  to 
perform  it.  Joining  Gerald  next  day,  a  blanched  cheek  and 
quivering  lip  betrayed  her  suffering.  All  that  she  could  say 
was,  "Blanche  is  better;  we  have  nothing  to  fear."  While 
she  needed  her  care,  Edith  was  unwearied,  and  long  after 
Blanche  was  able  to  leave  her  room,  she  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  stay  there. 

"  When  will  you  go  down  ?"  asked  Edith. 

4<  Never,  sister,  if  I  had  my  choice,"  she  replied.  "  Only  let 
me  shut  myself  up  here." 

After  much  persuasion,  at  the  close  of  a  week,  Edith  led  her 
down  stairs,  pale,  sad,  and  suffering.  When  she  met  Gerald, 
she  extended  her  cold  hand  lifelessly,  without  raising  her  eyes, 
and,  on  answering  his  inquiries  for  her  health,  simply  replied, 
"Better;  but  I  cannot  talk.  Just  let  me  lie  on  the  sofa  in 
the  library." 

They  spent  a  quiet  evening.  All  were  under  great  restraint, 
for  deep  thoughts  and  solemn  resolutions  were  agitating  these 
suffering  human  hearts.  Slowly  Blanche  recovered,  but  her 
spirits  were  gone.  Even  Adele's  lively  smiles  ceased  to  cheer 
her.  Edith  read  a  great  deal  to  her,  from  strengthening  and 
encouraging  books,  and  Madge  endeavored  to  draw  her  away 
from  herself,  and  frequently  led  her  to  Woodbine  Cottage, 
hoping  that  the  spirit  of  peace  which  abode  there  might  reach 
her  case. 

In  the  meanwhile,  fearful  struggles  were  agitating  the 
bosom  of  Edith  Cliffbr L  She  had  heard  the  wild  burst  of 
affection  which,  in  a  moment  of  alarm,  had  burst  from  the 
lips  of  Gerald  Fortescue,  and  the  tender  epithets  which,  un- 


A  WRECK   UPON   A   SUMMER   STREAM.  307 

consciously,  had  escaped  from  Blanche.  She  could  blind 
herself  no  longer.  Her  idol  was  shattered.  He  who  n  she 
had  loved  so  long,  so  devotedly,  loved  her  no  more,  but  loved 
another,  and  that  one  her  own  sister.  Now,  what  was  her 
duty  ?  was  the  great  question,  night  and  day.  It  robbed  her 
of  rest,  paled  her  cheeks,  and  interrupted  her  communion  with 
heaven.  Should  she  hold  Gerald  to  his  engagement,  though 
he  loved  another?  No,  that  must  never  be.  Could  she  resign 
the  dearest  hope  of  her  heart,  for  her  sister?  She  felt  her 
utter  weakness,  and  could  not  summon  sti'ength  to  make  the 
sacrifice.  All  the  pride  of  her  nature  rose  up,  and  she  asked, 
what  right  had  that  sister  to  come  and  rob  her  of  her  heart's 
treasure  ?  And  yet,  her  secret  conviction  was,  that  it  had  not 
been  the  work  of  any  deep  design,  but  had  been  resisted  by 
both  ;  for  she  had  seen  their  coldness,  their  avoiding  of  each 
other,  and  even  rudeness  on  the  part  of  Gerald.  She  spoke 
to  no  human  being  of  her  struggles,  not  even  to  Miss  Arnold  ; 
but  sure  of  divine  sympathy  and  guidance,  she  went  and  told 
Jesus.  He  remembered  whereof  she  was  made,  pitied  her 
human  infirmities,  and  with  all  the  tenderness  of  an  elder 
brother,  at  last  made  plain  her  path  of  duty,  and,  extending 
his  hand  to  help,  and  his  bosom  to  lean  on,  strengthened  her  to 
tread  safely  through  this  dark  valley  of  her  pilgrimage.  On 
the  top  of  the  distant  hill,  which  she  was  yet  to  climb,  was 
waiting  the  "chamber  of  peace,"  from  whose  windows  she 
might  view  the  "land  of  Beulah,"  and  yet  go  on  her  way 
rejoicing. 

None  could  know  all  that  was  passing  in  the  deep,  fervent 
heart;  a  paler  cheek,  a  loftier  brow,  a  compressed  lip,  a  more 
quiet  step,  and  a  deeper  silence,  betrayed  some  great  conflict 
passed  within,  but  none  asked  her  of  her  trial,  for  most  sus- 
pected what  was  wringing  the  noble  heart.  Ralph  and  Madge 
redoubled  their  affectionate  attentions;  Blanche  was  humble, 
quiet,  loving ;  Adele  restrained  her  merriment,  and  Miss  Arnold 
clung  more  closely  to  her  pupil.  Edith  visited  her  pastor 
more  frequently,  and  found  comfort  in  the  councils  of  that 
valued  friend,  who,  aware  that  some  sore  trial  was  agitating 


308  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

her  spirit,  directed  her  to  the  only  true  source  of  wisdom  and 
strength.  Seated,  one  evening,  in  the  drawing-room,  near  the 
side  window,  she  heard  foot-steps  pacing  slowly  on  the  path, 
and  soon  discovered  the  voices  to  be  those  of  Gerald  and 
Blanche.  The  latter  was  speaking  in  reproachful  tones  of 
sorrow. 

"Why  do  you  treat  me  so  unkindly,  Gerald?  what  have  I 
done  ?"  said  the  young  girl. 

"  Nothing,  Blanche ;  I  am  not  unkind,  I  do  not  mean  to  be," 
answered  Gerald.  "  O,  could  you  read  my  heart,  how  different 
would  it  appear !" 

She  advanced,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  while 
she  raised  her  soft  eyes  to  his  face,  and  said,  "  Gerald  you  are 
to  be  my  brother,  treat  me  like  a  sister ;  do  not  speak  so 
harshly,  do  not  shun  me,  as  if  I  were  a  serpent." 

"  O  Blanche !  do  not  tempt  me  to  forget  my  duty.  Treat 
you  as  a  sister !  O  yes !  that  is  an  easy  matter  to  talk  about, 
but  it  wrings  my  heart  to  think  of  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Gerald  ?"  said  Blanche,  in  her  most 
•winning  manner. 

"  I  mean,  Blanche,  that  your  loveliness  has  stolen  away  my 
honor,  unconsciously.  Yon  have  filled  the  heart  that  once  was 
Edith's;  and  Blanche,  I  love  you,  as  I  have  never  loved 
before." 

A  smile  of  rapture  stole  over  her  young  face,  but  it  was 
instantly  succeeded  by  a  look  of  the  deepest  sadness,  as  she 
whispered,  "  Gerald,  weak  as  I  may  appear,  these  few  words 
have  filled  my  heart  with  happiness,  yet  I  cannot  make  my 
sister  miserable.  I  know  her  devotion,  I  venerate  her  worth. 
I  will  go  away,  Gerald,  and  you  will  soon  forget  me,  when 
united  to  such  a  lovely  being  as  my  sister  Edith." 

Stopping,  and  striking  his  forehead  vehemently,  he  ex- 
claimed, "What  are  we  saying,  Blanche?  O,  why  did  you 
come  here?  Go,  Blanche,  go  at  once  ;  instantly  leave  me,  and 
let  us  never  meet  again  alone?  We  must  forget  each  other? 
Honor,  truth,  duty,  bid  us  both  forget  this  dream  !"  So  say- 
ing, he  snatched  the  littlf  hand,  pressed  it  fervently  to  his  lips, 


A   WRECK  UPON   A  SUMMER  STREAM.  309 

and  in  an  imploring  tone  said  once  more,  "  Blanche,  begone  I 
why  do  you  stay  ?  Leave  me  to  myself!" 

"Do  not  speak  so  unkindly,  Gerald;  it  breaks  my  heart. 
Farewell !  farewell !"  and  with  these  words,  she  turned  sadly 
away,  and  hastened  down  the  path  that  led  to  the  shore,  drop- 
ping, as  she  walked,  a  rose  from  the  bosom  of  her  dress. 
Gerald  seized  it,  kissed  it  fervently,  and  placing  it  reverently 
in  his  vest  pocket,  said,  "Farewell,  too  lovely  Blanche!  And 
now  for  the  stern  performance  of  duty."  Edith  had  heard  all, 
with  her  hand  pressed  upon  her  beating  heart,  which  throbbed 
so  wildly  that  she  could  almost  hear  its  beating. 

" Cruel,  cruel  Gerald !  thus  to  despise  the  devotion  of  a  life; 
but  how  could  he  help  loving  Blanche,  when  he  draws  com- 
parison between  the  pale,  drooping  Edith,  and  the  bright, 
lovely  creature  who  has  captivated  him  ?  I  cannot  wonder, 
then,  there  is  more  of  sympathy  between  them  than  between 
us.  The  path  of  duty  is  opening  before  me,  but  oh,  it  is  a 
bitter  cross,  and  I  am  slow  to  take  it  up.  Where  is  all  my 
boasted  pride  now?"  Rising  slowly,  she  walked  out  upon  the 
piazza,  and  there,  on  one  of  the  settees,  lay  Gerald's  portfolio, 
which  in  his  haste  he  had  forgotten.  She  opened  it.  There 
were  numerous  sketches  of  Blanche,  in  various  attitudes,  but 
the  one  which  touched  her  the  most,  was  the  rough  sketch, 
taken  so  many  years  ago,  when,  in  the  days  of  her  childhood, 
he  painted  the  picture  on  the  balcony;  doubtless  from  that 
hour  began  the  study  of  the  physical  loveliness  which  had  so 
wholly  erased  the  noble  image  of  Edith  Clifford  from  the  weak 
inconstant  heart  of  Gerald  Fortescue. 

That  was  a  sleepless  night  for  Edith.  Her  memory  went 
back  to  the  first  rosy  dream  of  happiness,  by  the  old  elm  tree; 
and  when  she  realized  all  that  she  had  suffered,  thoughts  of 
bitterness  would  spring  up,  and  choke  the  effort  to  forgive  the 
wrong.  When  Gerald  next  visited  Ravenswood,  his  whole 
manner  was  changed.  Icy  cold  to  Blanche,  he  scarcely  looked 
towards  or  spoke  to  her;  to  Edith  he  was  studiously  kind  and 
attentive,  but  she  was  deceived  no  more. 

In  the  evening  Edith  was  seated  alone  in  the  library.     The 


310  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

door  opened,  and  Gerald  entered.  Advancing  towards  her 
with  the  same  smile  as  of  former  years,  he  approached,  and 
said,  "Edith,  here  are  my  gloves,  will  you  not  mend  them  for 
me?" 

"Certainly,  Gerald,  it  ghes  me  pleasure  to  perform  any 
service  for  you." 

"  Go,  get  your  sewing  utensils,  and  mend  them  here ;  will  you 
not,  Edith  ?" 

She  arose,  and  quickly  returned  with  her  work-basket. 

"Shall  I  read  while  you  sew?"  said  Gerald. 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  you,"  she  replied,  quietly. 

As  he  read  some  of  her  favorite  pieces,  from  Longfellow, 
she  could  not  restrain  the  tears  that  would  drop  under  her 
work,  as  she  remembered  the  days  that  were  gone,  before  the 
cloud  rose  up  between  them  that  had  dimmed  the  happiness 
of  their  intercourse  forever.  She  listened  now,  not  to  Gerald, 
her  own  beloved,  but  to  Gerald,  her  sister's  lover,  and  when 
she  could  obtain  the  strength  to  say  it, — her  sister's  husband ; 
for  to  this  was  she  schooling  her  heart. 

Blanche  withered  and  pined  away.  Edith  busied  herself 
renewedly  in  works  of  benevolence.  Ralph  and  Madge  looked 
on  in  silent  sympathy  with  the  surrounding  misery,  and  won- 
dered where  it  all  would  end.  Aware,  however,  of  Edith's 
noble  nature,  they  felt  what  was  approaching,  and  dreaded  the 
wreck  of  her  fondly  cherished  hopes.  Notwithstanding  the 
silent  sorrow  of  her  sister  Blanche,  Edith  still  treated  her  with 
coldness,  but  to  Gerald  she  was  the  tender  woman  still.  So  fer- 
vent was  her  devotion  to  him,  that  her  pride  seemed  to  forsake 
her  when  Gerald  was  concerned.  She  blamed  Blanche  unreason- 
ably, and  could  not  but  think  that  she  must  have  endeavored 
to  draw  him  away  from  his  allegiance. 

They  had  been  suffering  so  long  that  the  whole  household 
was  affected,  and  Ralph  proposed  that  if  the  day  was  favorable, 
on  the  morrow  they  should  take  an  excursion  on  the  Hudson 
as  far  as  West  Point. 

Accordingly,  the  weather  being  propitious,  the  party  started 
on  their  trip.  E-lith,  Gerald,  Blanche,  Adele,  and  Madge, 


A   WRECK   UPON   A   SUMMER    STREAM.  311 

composed  the  company.  The  day  was  charming,  and.  the 
scenery  exhilarating  to  the  spirits  of  the  young  people;  even 
Edith  enjoyed  it,  but  not  with  the  keen  delight  of  former  years. 
Gerald  was  studiously  kind  and  attentive  to  Edith,  to  Blanche 
distant  and  cold.  Edith  felt  that  this  could  not  last  much 
longer,  and  slowly  she  was  preparing  herself  for  the  crucifix- 
ion of  her  hopes. 

It  was  towards  evening  when  they  returned.  Large  numbers 
were  on  board  the  boat.  Many  seemed  to  be  much  excited,  for 
a  spirited  race  was  going  on  between  their  boat  and  another, 
the  gentlemen  urging  them  on.  Edith,  observing  how  the  men 
were  heaping  on  wood,  ventured  to  remonstrate ;  many  of  the 
ladies  became  alarmed,  and  Gerald,  commissioned  by  several, 
went  forward,  and  begged  that  they  would  cease. 

"  We  are  not  going  to  lose  our  sport,"  said  a  dashing-looking 
man,  "  for  a  set  of  baby -faced  women."  "  On  with  the  steam," 
roared  the  racing  company. 

Perceiving  that  remonstrance  was  in  vain,  Edith  endeavored 
to  compose  her  own  feelings  and  those  of  her  sisters.  Seated 
near  the  wheel-box,  she  said  to  Gerald,  "  Feel  how  intensely 
hot  the  deck  is !  I  am  sure  that  we  are  in  danger."  Touching 
it  with  his  hand,  his  countenance  expressed  the  apprehension 
that  he  felt.  He  hastened  forward  to  the  captain,  begging  him 
to  examine  the  deck.  He  obeyed  the  summons,  and  looked 
alarmed.  They  watched  his  course,  and  saw  him  run  rapidly 
down  the  stairs.  In  another  minute,  a  cry  of  "Fire!  fire!" 
was  heard,  and  smoke  was  seen  issuing  from  many  of  the  cracks 
over  the  wheel-box.  A  scene  of  confusion,  that  baffled  descrip- 
tion, ensued.  Shrieks,  groans,  and  prayers  for  mercy,  filled  the 
air;  and,  in  another  minute,  the  flames  burst  through  the  deck, 
spreading  rapidly  towards  the  stern  of  the  vessel.  Mid  groans 
and  cries,  the  tolling  of  the  bell  added  to  the  despair  of  the 
scene.  Husbands  were  searching  for  their  wives,  parents  for 
their  children,  brothers  were  calling  loudly  for  their  sisters,  and 
our  party,  led  by  Gerald,  luirried  to  the  bow  of  the  boat.  The 
boats  were  instantly  let  down,  but  filled,  in  a  moment,  to  over- 
flowing. In  the  meanwhile,  the  tongues  of  flame  leaped  up, 


312  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

consuming  everything  within  their  reach.  Attempts  were 
made  to  head  the  boat  to  the  shore  but  the  machinery  was 
unmanageable,  and  the  doomed  company  seemed  devoted 
either  to  the  devouring  flames  or  to  the  swelling  river.  Seeing 
that  destruction  was  inevitable,  Gerald,  in  a  moment  of  frantic 
agony,  seized  Blanche,  exclaiming,  in  tones  almost  frenzied, 
"  Blanche,  my  dearest  love,  we  have  suffered,  let  us  be  saved  or 
die  together." 

Perceiving  Blanche  clinging  closely  around  his  neck,  Edith 
drank  another  cup  of  bitter  agony  when  she  saw  Gerald,  her 
own  betrothed,  leap  into  the  water  with  her  sister,  leaving  her 
to  such  a  dreadful  fate.  It  needed  but  this  to  complete  her 
misery.  A  tempting  thought  arose.  "There  is  the  deep 
water :  it  will  drown  all  my  sorrows  ;  why  should  I  live  ?" 
The  sister's  solemn  vow  recurred  to  her  memory,  and,  quick 
as  lightning,  the  mother's  death-bed  scene.  "Forsake  them, 
never !"  was  the  sudden  resolution,  and  the  brave  girl  looked 
around  for  rescue  for  her  sisters. 

A  gentleman  hurried  up  to  her.  "There  is  a  settee;  jump, 
quickly,"  said  he. 

Hurrying  Madge  first,  then  Adele,  to  the  side  of  the  boat, 
she  cried,  "  Go,  go,  dear  sisters ;  let  me  only  see  you  safe :  jump 
on  to  the  settee,  a  boat  is  near,"  and  the  noble  girl  stood  there, 
the  picture  of  heroic  resolution,  nor  ever  thought  of  herself, 
though  the  flames  were  singeing  her  hair,  until  she  saw  them 
safe  from  the  burning  wreck. 

"Now,  young  lady,"  said  the  same  gentleman,  "there  is 
another  settee ;  spring  quickly,  and  I  will  accompany  you ;" 
she  made  the  plunge,  but  the  settee  floated  away,  and,  for  a 
moment,  she  was  struggling  in  the  water.  The  arm  of  her 
unknown  friend  held  her  up,  and  he  swam  with  her  to  the  boat, 
begging  her  to  hold  on  to  the  rope,  until  he  brought  back  the 
settee.  The  flames  were  rapidly  spreading  to  the  bow  of  the 
boat;  toll,  toll,  rang  the  bell.  Edith  felt  that  the  rope  was  on 
fire.  Moments  seemed  ages.  The  fire  reached  her  hand. 
B.istered  with  the  flame,  she  dropped,  and  was  caught  in  the 
arms  of  her  preserver,  who  had  returned  with  a  settee. 


A  WRECK   UPON   A   SUMMER   STREAM.  313 

Placing  her  on  it,  he  held  her  up — for  she  was  nearly  fainting 
— when  he  saw  a  boat  pushing  rapidly  off  from  the  shore. 
Making  quick  signals  of  distress,  he  attracted  their  attention. 
It  drew  near,  and  in  a  short  time  Edith  was  safely  placed  in 
the  boat,  her  hands  and  the  back  of  her  neck  sorely  burned,  in 
her  heroic  efforts  to  save  her  sisters. 

"  Let  us  go  in  search  of  the  settees ;  my  sisters  are  on  one," 
said  Edith.  Perceiving  one  not  many  yards  distant,  they  drew 
up  to  the  frail  support,  but  her  sisters  were  not  there ;  all  were 
strangers.  "  Row  on,  row  on,"  exclaimed  Edith,  wringing  her 
hands  in  agony.  So  intense  was  her  excitement  that  she 
scarcely  perceived  the  bodies,  burnt  and  drowning,  that  floated 
around  her. 

In  a  few  minutes  more  they  reached  another  settee,  and,  sup- 
ported by  Madge,  lay  her  sister  Adele,  pale  and  lifeless. 
Lifting  them  quickly  into  the  boat,  the  sisters  were  locked  in 
each  other's  arms,  while  tears  of  joy  bathed  the  pale  faces  that 
looked  upon  each  other  in  speechless  love,  as  almost  raised  from 
the  dead. 

Rowing  to  the  shore,  Edith's  preserver  conveyed  the  party  to 
the  nearest  house,  where  they  received  all  the  attention  they 
needed.  Mr.  Percival — for  that  was  the  gentleman's  name — 
inquired  where  they  would  be  conveyed.  On  being  informed 
that  they  were  about  twelve  miles  from  their  home,  he  obtained 
a  carriage  from  the  kind  family,  and  after  changing  their 
dresses  for  dry  garments,  they  started  for  their  homes,  filled 
twith  anxiety  for  the  fate  of  Gerald  and  Blanche. 

As  Edith  turned  away  from  the  scene  of  the  disaster,  she 
gave  one  hurried  glance  to  the  boat,  and  saw  not  only  the 
burning  hull,  but,  upon  that  placid  summer  stream,  the  wreck 
of  all  her  earthly  hopes  of  happiness :  for  the  echoes  of  Gerald's 
tones  of  agony  were  still  ringing  in  her  ears,  and  calling  upon 
her  loudly  for  sacrifice.  Burned  in  upon  her  heart,  the  remem- 
brance of  that  scene  was  stamped  there  forever. 

They  reached  home  about  midnight.  The  family  were  all 
up,  waiting  for  tidings  from  the  rest  of  the  party,  for  Gerald 
and  Blanche  had  arrived  first.  When  the  carriage  drove  up 


314  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Mr.  Clifford  received  them  with  speechless  joy,  and  Edith's 
first  cry  was  for  Gerald  and  Blanche.  "  They  are  safe/' 
answered  the  father;  "they  arrived  about  one  hour  ago,  and 
Blanche  is  in  charge  of  Miss  Arnold." 

Edith  nerved  herself  to  go  into  her  sister's  room.  When 
Blanche  saw  her,  she  threw  herself  into  her  arms,  and  whisp- 
pered,  "Thank  God,  my  sister,  we  are  all  safe."  Unable 
longer  to  restrain  her  feelings,  Edith  hurried  to  her  own  room. 

Miss  Arnold  saw  that  all  were  properly  attended  to  after  so 
great  a  shock,  but  was  particularly  alarmed  by  the  marble  skiu 
and  deathlike  appearance  of  her  beloved  Edith.  Her  answers 
were  incoherent, — scarcely  seeming  aware  of  all  that  had 
happened  ;  she  appeared  like  one  wholly  benumbed.  A  warm 
bath,  blankets,  and  a  stimulating  beverage  were  administered, 
and  on  being  assured  that  she  felt  better,  Miss  Arnold,  at 
Edith's  urgent  request,  left  her  alone. 

And  now,  alone  with  God,  deep  were  the  struggles  of  that 
night  of  agony.  She  recalled  all  the  days  of  her  early  love,  all 
the  trust  and  confidence  which  she  had  reposed  in  Gerald,  all 
the  love  which  she  had  lavished  upon  her  sister,  and  bitterly 
she  asked,  why  she  had  been  called  to  bear  so  much  ?  Her 
spirit  rose  up  in  rebellion  against  Gerald,  against  Blanche,  and 
even,  for  a  moment,  against  God,  accusing  him  of  injustice ; 
but  with  the  strong  shield  of  faith  she  repelled  the  Satanic 
dart.  Then  recurred  the  remembrance  of  the  sister's  vow  by 
the  mother's  death-bed;  the  misery  of  two  suffering  hearts, 
both  weaker  than  herself;  and,  with  a  strong  heart,  nerved  by 
fervent,  earnest  prayer,  she  resolved  to  release  Gerald,  and  to 
devote  herself  wholly,  renewedly,  to  God  and  her  family. 
With  Edith  Clifford,  to  resolve  was  to  do.  The  long  struggle 
•was  over,  the  tempest  of  feeling  subsided ;  the  dove  of  peace 
folded  her  bright  wings  over  her  pillow,  and  towards  morning 
Edith  slept.  When  she  awoke,  she  found  herself  very  weak, 
but  having  high  duties  to  perform  that  day,  she  arose,  dressed 
slowly,  and  fortifying  her  soul  from  the  great  trial  by  fervent 
prayer,  she  descended  to  the  breakfast-room. 

As  she  entered,  she  ad  van  ;ed  to  her  father,,  and  kissed  him 


A   WRECK   UPON   A   SUMMER  STREAM.  315 

fondly  ;  but  there  was  a  look  of  intense  suffering  about  the 
marble  face,  and  a  subdued  tone  of  feeling  in  her  voice,  that 
impressed  all  who  looked  upon  her.  Miss  Arnold,  who  under- 
stood her  beloved  pupil's  character,  read  the  expression  of  high 
resolve  aright,  and  understood  the  melting  of  her  soft,  dark 
eye  as  she  looked  on  Gerald  and  Blanche,  while  occasionally  a 
tender  smile  played  around  her  sweet  lips.  Gerald  scarcely 
raised  his  eyes,  conscious  of  his  cruel  desertion,  but  Edith 
advanced  and  whispered,  "It  is  all  forgiven,  Gerald.  Poor 
Gerald,  you  could  not  help  it." 

He  could  not  answer,  but  he  took  the  pale  hand,  pressed  it 
to  his  lips,  and  rushed  from  the  room.  It  was  a  quiet  meal,  for 
all  were  too  deeply  agitated  to  converse  much.  Mr.  Clifford 
and  Miss  Arnold  alone  endeavored  to  entertain  their  kind 
guest,  Mr.  Percival,  whom  they  found  to  be  a  very  intelligent 
man.  Aged  about  thirty,  his  fine  face  expressed  a  lofty  char- 
acter, and  he  soon  declared  himself  to  be  a  missionary,  pre- 
paring for  labors  in  China.  His  conversation  was  deeply 
interesting,  and  under  other  circumstances  he  would  have  been 
a  welcome  guest.  Evidently  much  pleased  with  his  new 
acquaintances,  he  resolved  to  take  advantage  of  the  cordial 
invitation  of  Mr.  Clifford  to  visit  Ravens  wood  frequently. 

After  breakfast,  Edith  sent  for  Gerald  to  meet  her  in  the 
library.  He  entered  with  a  bowed  head  and  timid  step. 
She  was  seated  on  her  mother's  chair.  Having  passed  through 
all  her  fearful  struggles,  a  smile  of  tenderness  played  around 
the  usually  proud  lips,  the  eyes  expressed  high  resolve  and 
melting  pity;  her  whole  aspect  was  serene  and  dignified. 

"  Sit  down,  Gerald,  I  have  much  to  say,"  said  the  noble 
woman.  "  I  have  sent  for  you,  Gerald,  to  release  you  from  all 
bonds  to  me.  I  have  been  long  of  the  opinion  that  your 
warmest  love  is  another's;  and  the  incidents  of  last  evening 
have  convinced  me  that  I  ought  not  to  hold  you  longer  bound." 
Gerald  bowed  his  head,  covered  with  his  hands,  upon  the  table. 
Edith  spoke  with  difficulty,  gasping  between  every  sentence. 
"  It  has  been  a  bitter  trial,  Gerald,  for  the  affection  of  many 
years,  or  rather  of  a  whole  life,  is  not  easily  conquered :  but  I 


316  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

desire,  above  all  things,  to  see  you  happy.  You  love  my  sister 
Blanche,  and  I  do  not  wonder.  She  is  a  charming  girl,  and 
loves  you  fondly.  I  can  bid  you  take  her,  Gerald,  and  may 
God  bless  you  both." 

Gerald's  frame  shook  with  the  tempest  of  feeling  that  agi- 
tated him.  Raising  his  head,  he  said,  "O  Edith  Clifford! 
your  noble  heart  is  worthy  of  a  better  man  than  I ;  but  believe 
me,  Edith,  I  have  never  wronged  you  wilfully.  My  reason 
has  always  approved  of  my  early  choice,  but  my  imagination, 
my  feelings,  have  been  led  away  unconsciously.  I  have 
avoided  Blanche,  I  have  treated  her  coldly,  yes,  even  harshly  ; 
but  I  have  been  bewildered  by  her  fascinating  beauty  and  her 
grace.  But  when  I  think  of  last  night,  and  how  I  left  you, 
my  noble  Edith,  to  perish,  I  despise  myself  for  my  weakness." 

"You  could  not  help  it,  Gerald;  you  forgot  poor  Edith," 
and  her  lips  quivered  with  suppressed  emotion,  while  she  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  burning  forehead.  "  You  betrayed,  uncon* 
sciously,  the  depth  of  your  love;  and  though  I  wished  to  perish 
too  in  that  moment,  I  resolved  that,  should  your  lives  be 
spared,  I  would  not  separate  two  hearts  that  loved  each  other." 

"  Have  I  not  always  said,  Edith,  that  you  were  far  above 
me,  as  heaven  is  above  the  earth  ?  And  now  you  seem  tow- 
ering above  common  humanity,  and  akin  to  angels." 

"  I  am  redeeming  my  vow  to  my  dying  mother,  Gerald,  and 
after  the  bitterness  of  sacrifice  is  all  over,  peace  will  come,  and 
I  shall  be  happy  if  you  and  Blanche  are  only  blest.  Go,  bring 
Blanche  here.  I  must  see  her  at  once." 

In  a  few  minutes  Blanche  entered  the  library.  With  a  timid 
step  she  advanced  to  her  sister,  who,  taking  Gerald's  hand  and 
joining  it  with  that  of  Blanche,  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and 
placing  a  hand  on  each  head,  said,  slowly,  in  solemn  tones, 
"  God  bless  my — my — brother  and  sister.  May  they  tread 
life's  pilgrimage  happily  together,  and  at  last  may  we  all  meet 
in  our  father's  heavenly  kingdom."  Then  taking  the  ring  of 
betrothal  from  her  finger,  and  placing  it  upon  her  sister's,  she 
added,  "  Blanche,  be  faithful  to  Gerald,  comfort,  sustain,  and 
cheer  him,  and  may  God  bless  you  both." 


A   WRECK    UPON   A   BUMMER  STREAM.  317 

Blanche,  bowed  at  her  sister's  feet,  said,  "Edith,  sister, 
forgive  me  ;  I  have  not  wronged  you  willingly.  My  poor,  weak 
heart  is  not  so  strong  as  yours.  I  have  struggled,  hut  in  vain. 
O,  let  me  go,  Edith,  away,  far  away  from  Ravenswood,  arid 
Gerald  will  forget  that  there  was  ever  such  a  being  as  Blanche 
Clifford." 

"  Arise,  my  child,  my  dear  sister ;  my  resolution  is  fixed. 
You  must  be  a  kind,  affectionate  companion  to  Gerald,  and  I 
will  be  your  friend,  your  sister,  still." 

"Edith,  you  make  me  ashamed  of  myself.  How  can  I 
take  advantage  of  your  generosity  ?"  answered  Blanche. 

"  May  you  both  be  happy,"  whispered  Edith,  hoarsely,  whose 
strength  was  rapidly  failing.  Gerald  supported  her  to  the 
door  of  her  own  room,  and  pressing  her  hand  reverently  to  his 
lips,  he  returned  to  Blanche,  who,  weeping,  was  sitting  on  the 
couch  where  he  had  left  her.  We  will  not  disclose  the  commu- 
nion of  that  hour,  but  will  simply  add,  that  its  happiness  was 
much  diminished  by  the  remembrance  of  the  sacrifice  which 
had  bound  them  together. 

When  Edith  reached  her  room,  throwing  herself  upon  her 
knees,  the  fountain  of  her  tears  gushed  forth,  and  she  paid  the 
last  tribute  of  farewell  to  all  her  youthful  dreams  of  earthly 
happiness.  Unable  to  sit  up,  she  retired  to  her  bed,  and  when 
missed  at  the  dinner-table,  Miss  Arnold  hastened  to  her  room, 
and  found  her  in  a  burning  fever.  The  excitement  of  the 
night  before,  and  the  events  of  the  succeeding  day,  had  been 
too  much  for  her.  The  last  solemn  duty  performed,  she  had 
sunk  beneath  the  burden.  In  a  few  words,  Miss  Arnold  was 
apprised  of  all,  and  on  the  bosom  of  that  faithful  friend,  the 
lacerated  heart  found  sympathy  and  comfort.  For  weeks,  she 
lay  in  a  low,  nervous  fever.  The  anxious  father,  the  distressed, 
agonized  sisters,  Frank  and  iCveleen,  the  praying  pastor,  suffer- 
ing Gerald,  the  weeping  servants,  good  old  Aunt  Priscilla,  the 
poor,  the  ignorant,  who  thronged  the  house,  all  testified  to  the 
deep  and  reverential  love  which  Edith  had  inspired.  But 
when  she  came  among  them  once  more,  serene  and  placid,  a 
great  change  had  passed  over  that  lofty  spirit ;  the  tomb  had 


318  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

closed  over  her  early  love ;  and  but  few  knew  why  Edith's 
teachings  were  so  much  more  spiritual,  Edith's  prayers  among 
the  sick  and  suffering  so  much  more  heavenly,  and  her  ministry 
among  her  household  so  loving,  so  forbearing,  so  humble; 
none  knew  but  her  own  family,  who,  henceforth,  almost  en- 
shrined her  as  their  guardian  angel,  upon  earth.  Nothing 
could  exceed  Aunt  Priscilla's  indignation  when  apprised  of 
Edith's  noble  sacrifice. 

"  I  always  said  that  Gerald  was  not  worthy  of  our  Edith  ;  now, 
you  see,  my  words  have  all  come  true.  Blanche,  with  her 
baby  face  and  winnin'  ways  has  stolen  his  heart  away  from 
Edith.  I  don't  kere  about  it,  but  it  vexes  my  old  heart  to  see 
her  pinin'  away,  after  sich  a  weak,  worthless  feller.  He's  jist  fit 
for  Blanche ;  they're  well  matched,  say  I ;  but  I'll  take  good 
kere  of  Edith ;  she'll  never  want  a  friend,  while  I'm  living." 

In  a  week  from  this  time,  the  old  lady  was  seen  driving  off 
in  her  crazy  gig,  but  leaving  her  pets  behind,  they  looked  for 
her  return.  In  the  course  of  a  few  days,  the  old  vehicle  was 
seen  driving  up  the  avenue,  and  so  soon  as  convenient,  the  old 
lady  summoned  Edith  to  her  room.  Handing  her  a  package, 
tied  with  pink  tape,  she  said,  "  There,  my  child,  is  a  deed,  which 
makes  Hazel  Glen  your  own.  It  is  a  fine  old  place,  and  a  fine 
old  house.  You  desarve  it,  Edith  ;  and  if  any  trouble  should 
come  on  you  here,  there's  a  home  for  life,  and  if  not,  the  rent 
will  be  a  snug  little  income." 

"O,  aunty,  you  are  a  good  friend,"  replied  Edith;  "I  thank 
you  for  your  kindness." 

"I  have  never  forgot  all  your  goodness  to  the  plain  old 
country  woman,"  said  Aunt  Priscilla,  "so  different  from  your 
father's  friends.  I've  seed  your  sore  trouble,  I  know  all  your 
trials ;  but  the  good  Lord,  Edey,  will  never  forsake  one  that 
trusts  in  him.  You'll  never  forgit  your  old  aunty ;  when  she's 
sick,  and  ready  to  pass  over  Jordan,  you'll  come,  won't  you, 
Edey,  and  wipe  the  death-sweat  from  my  face,  and  sing  your 
sweet  hymns,  around  my  dyin'  pillar  ?" 

"  That  I  will,  if  my  life  is  spared,  a'inty ;  you  may  rely  always 
upon  me." 


A   WRECK   UPON   A   SUMMER  STREAM.  319 

Taking  Edith  in  her  arms  the  kind  old  woman  kissed  her 
affectionately,  and  said,  "  You  are  a  good  child,  Edey,  and  your 
last  days  will  be  blessed,  that  I  know." 

Ralph  and  Madge  felt  still  more  closely  bound  to  the  noble 
woman,  for  though  but  little  was  said  about  her  trials,  they 
were  fully  aware  of  all,  and  honored  her  for  the  sacrifice. 

Old  Uncle  Peter  saw  that  something  unusual  had  occurred. 
"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  nurse,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I'm  sore 
afeard  that  Miss  Edith  is  gwan  to  leave  us;  she  looks  more  and 
more  like  an  angel,  every  day.  Ever  sence  she's  been  sick, 
I've  seed  that  look  on  her  face.  The  proud  curl  around  her 
mouth  is  all  gone ;  and  then  her  words  are  all  so  kind,  and  she 
seems  to  love  everybody  so  much.  Mark  my  words,  she's  had 
some  sore  trouble,  but  jest  like  some  of  our  yarbs  in  the  garden, 
which  are  sweeter  when  they're  crushed,  they've  been  a  blessing 
to  her." 

"I  think  so  too,  Uncle  Peter,"  said  the  nurse;  "I've  heard 
her  cry  in  the  night  so  pitifully,  when  she  was  sick,  and  I  think 
I  know  what's  the  matter  with  my  darling.  You  know,  for 
many  years,  ever  since  she  was  seventeen,  she  has  been  engaged 
to  Master  Gerald  ;  but  lately,  I  see  he  doesn't  walk  about  with 
Miss  Edith,  as  he  used  to,  but  he's  always  with  Miss  Blanche. 
The  other  day  Miss  Edith  was  sitting  at  her  chamber  window, 
when  Mr.  Gerald  and  Miss  Blanche  passed  by  ;  they  didn't  see 
her;  but  Miss  Blanche  had  some  flowers  in  her  hair,  and  Mr. 
Gerald  took  one  out,  and  kissed  it,  and  then  put  it  in  the  but- 
ton-hole of  his  coat.  Miss  Blanche  smiled  and  blushed,  as  if 
she  was  pleased,  and  there  was  a  look  upon  their  young  faces 
that  said  they  loved  each  other.  I  was  in  Miss  Edith's  room, 
and  I  saw  her  press  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  and  look  upon 
them  with  such  a  sad,  sweet  smile,  that  I  know  all  the  history 
of  her  trouble  now." 

Uncle  Peter  wiped  away  a  tear,  as  he  said,  "  Bless  her  dear 
young  heart!  Miss  Blanche,  with  her  beautiful  face  and  \\in- 
nin'  way?,  isn't  fit  to  hold  a  candle  to  Miss  Edith.  But  the 
world  '11  be  all  the  better  for  Miss  Edith's  sorrow,  if  she  is  to  be 
an  old  maid.  I  speck  that's  the  reason  why  she's  doin'  so  much 


320  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

good.  The  love  that's  been  thrown  away  upon  Massa  Gerald  is 
shinin1  now  among  the  poor  and  the  sufferin'.  I  tell  you, 
nurse,  sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  could  go  right  down  on  my  old 
knees,  and  worship  her." 

One  duty  yet  remained.  Locked  in  her  room,  she  proceeded 
to  disinter  the  relics  of  her  buried  affection,  ere  consigning  them 
forever  to  oblivion.  Gerald's  likeness,  in  the  early  days  cf 
their  engagement,  with  its  dreaming  eyes,  high  forehead,  and 
soft,  waving  brown  hair;  a  pin  with  his  hair,  a  gift  when  they 
left  Europe ;  several  casts,  and  some  gems  of  his  own  painting, 
and  a  large  package  of  letters,  which  she  dare  not  read, — all 
were  gathered  together,  and  returned,  with  a  request  that  tho 
latter  might  be  burned,  and  her  own  restored  to  her.  The 
letters  came,  but  the  little  gifts  which  had  been  exchanged,  he 
begged  to  retain  as  mementoes  of  a  sister's  love.  Gathering 
the  letters,  she  placed  them  one  by  one,  in  the  fire,  and  as  they 
were  consumed,  shed  some  natural  tears  over  their  smouldering 
ashes,  repeating  these  beautiful  lines : 

"  Have  I  not  been  nigh  a  mother 

To  thy  sweetness — tell  me,  dear? 
Have  we  not  loved  one  another 

Tenderly,  from  year  to  year? 
Since  our  dying  mother  mild, 
Said,  with  accents  undefiled, 
'  Child,  be  mother  to  this  child!' 

"  Mother,  mother,  up  in  heaven, 

Stand  upon  the  jasper  sea, 
And  be  witness  I  have  given 

All  the  gifts  required  of  me, 
Hope  that  blessed  me,  bliss  that  crowned, 
Love  that  left  me  with  a  wound, 
Life  itself  that  turned  around  ?" 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


GREEN     PASTURES    AND    STILL.     WATERS. 

OMETIMES,  through  the  deep  valleys  of 
sorrow,  at  others,  up  the  rough  hill-sides  of 
difficulty,  the  pilgrim  passes  ou  his  journey  to 
the  skies;  sometimes,  too  much  fascinated  by 
scenes  of  earth,  or  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  sweet 
dreams  of  some  enchanted  bower,  he  is  tempted  to 
forget  his  heavenly  crown  :  then  comes  the  friendly 
rod,  striking  the  sleeping  pilgrim,  with  the  com- 
mand to  "  march,  march  forward,"  awaking  him 
from  his  slumbers.  Called,  perhaps,  to  encounter  some  fierce 
enemy  who  assails  his  soul,  he  girds  himself  for  the  conflict ; 
conquering  in  strength  of  his  Redeemer,  he  reaches  the  height 
of  some  distant  hill,  where  the  "chamber  of  peace,"  the  "bread 
of  heaven,"  and  the  "water  of  life,"  are  ready  for  his  refresh- 
ment. Such  a  resting-place  had  Edith  reached;  and  having 
conquered  her  spiritual  enemies,  blessed  were  the  visions  of  rest, 
beyond  this  world  of  conflict  and  temptation,  which  visited  her 
in  that  peaceful  chamber. 

Coming  daily  among  her  family  from  this  holy  refuge,  her 
countenance  shone  with  the  blessedness  of  such  communion. 
Under  the  elevation  of  her  feelings,  she  could  almost  look  upon 
the  happiness  which  she  had  conferred  upon  Gerald  and 
Blanche  with  composure,  and  doubted  not  that  hereafter  she 
should  fully  understand  the  wisdom  which  had  blasted  her 
21  321 


322  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

early  hopes.  Perhaps,  like  the  young  eagle,  she  would  not 
have  left  her  peaceful  nest  to  plume  her  wings  for  heaven,  but 
her  Heavenly  Father  had  stirred  up  her  nest,  and,  like  the 
parent  bird  who  flutters  over  her  tender  nurslings  to  compel 
their  flight,  her  heavenly  Friend  had  taken  her,  and  bearing 
her  on  his  outstretched  wings,  had  aided  her  upward  flight. 
The  love  which  now  encircled  her  in  her  own  home,  was  a 
sweet  cordial,  and  the  unfailing  friendship  of  Miss  Arnold,  a 
blessing  of  no  common  character.  Little  Emily  was  now  her 
sole  charge.  Lilly  was  improving  rapidly,  and  her  letters 
breathed  a  tone  of  piety  and  contentment  with  her  earthly  lot. 
On  all  holiday  occasions,  she  came  to  Ravenswood,  and  enjoyed 
her  visits  with  much  delight.  Possessing  fine  musical  talents, 
they  were  highly  cultivated,  and  afforded  her  friends  great 
gratification  on  her  visits  home.  But  Edith's  fears  were  deeply 
awakened  for  her  beloved  brother.  His  strength  seemed  gradu- 
ally declining,  his  preaching  more  and  more  spiritual;  and 
Edith  listened  to  his  eloquent  appeals  with  a  beating  heart,  for 
the  hacking  cough,  the  hollow  cheeks,  the  hectic  flush,  all  told 
her  that  his  days  were  numbered.  She  knew  these  symptoms 
too  well,  for  she  had  watched  them  all  in  her  beloved  mother. 

One  morning,  Caesar  was  brought  up  to  the  door  of  the  cot- 
tage, and  little  Frank  was  to  accompany  his  father  on  his 
morning  ride.  He  had  just  given  the  parting  kiss  to  Eveleen, 
and  was  lifting  his  little  boy  on  to  the  saddle,  when  his  anxious 
wife  observed  him  place  his  handkerchief  hastily  to  his  mouth, 
while  unusual  paleness  spread  over  his  face.  He  mounted  and 
had  scarcely  seated  hinwelf,  ere  the  crimson  tide  gushed  from 
his  mouth.  With  one  desperate  effort  he  lifted  his  boy  from 
the  horse,  and  dismounted,  leaning  upon  Eveleen's  shoulder 
for  support.  Her  cries  soon  brought  assistance,  and  with  the 
help  of  a  servant,  they  conveyed  him  into  the  parlor  and  laid 
him  on  the  sofa.  Placing  his  head  low,  and  administering  salt 
and  water,  she  sent  instantly  for  Dr.  Randolph  and  for  Edith. 

In  a  short  time  the  physician  arrived.  He  ordered  perfect 
quietness,  and  pronounced  the  case  very  dangerous.  Eveleen 
exerted  all  her  powers  of  self-control,  and  waited  anxiously  for 


GREEN   PASTURES   AND   STILL    WATERS.  323 

Edith.  The  sound  of  carriage-wheels  indicated  her  approach. 
Eveleen  hastened  to  the  gate.  One  gush  of  feeling  was  allowed, 
as  the  two  sisters  were,  for  one  moment,  folded  in  each  other's 
arms,  and  then  quietly  proceeded  to  the  side  of  the  couch. 
The  hemorrhage  had  subsided  for  the  present,  but  the  physician 
bade  them  look  for  a  return.  Frank  extended  his  hand  to 
Edith,  smiled  sweetly,  drew  her  down  close  to  him,  and  kissed 
her  fondly. 

"  Not  a  word,  dear  Frank,"  said  the  sister,  "  quietness  is  the 
order  of  the  day ;  when  you  are  better  you  can  say  all  you 
wish."  Closely  they  kept  watch  by  the  side  of  the  sufferer. 
In  the  middle  of  the  day,  another  hemorrhage,  more  severe 
than  the  first,  seemed  as  though  it  might  drain  the  very  foun- 
tain of  life,  and  towards  evening,  a  third  produced  such  weak- 
ness, that  scarcely  any  pulse  was  left. 

For  hours  he  lay  pale  as  the  sheeted  dead.  No  sign  of  life, 
save  a  faint  fluttering  of  the  pulse,  and  an  irregular  motion  of 
the  heart,  was  seen.  Woman's  love  and  woman's  trust  sus- 
tained the  watchers.  Hour  after  hour  passed  away,  and  no 
change  appeared.  The  stars  shone  brightly  upon  the  little 
cottage ;  and  Edith,  as  she  looked  out,  saw  what  Emily  had 
always  called  her  mother's  star,  and  she  almost  wondered  if 
spirits,  in  the  world  of  bliss,  had  any  sympathy  with  the  sor- 
rows of  this  lower  world.  She  blessed  God  that  revelation 
had  taught  her  where  to  look  for  sympathy,  not  human,  but 
divine ;  and  to  that  tender,  loving  Saviour,  "  who  sticketh 
closer  than  a  brother,"  she  told  her  tale  of  sorrow,  and  prayed 
for  strength  to  bear  it  all.  Pale,  silent  sufferers  in  that  sick 
chamber,  to  you  might  well  be  addressed  the  words  of  the 
sweet  poetess : 

"  Her  lot  is  on  you  !  to  be  found  untired, 

Watching  the  stars  out  by  the  bed  of  pain, 
With  a  pale  cheek,  and  yet  a  brow  inspired, 

And  a  true  heart  of  hope,  though  hope  be  vain. 
Meekly  to  bear  with  wrong,  to  cheer  decay 
And  oh  !  to  love  through  all  things, — therefore  pray!" 

Night  passed  away.     No  sleep  had  visited  the  eyes  of  either, 


324  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

but  towards  morning  they  observed  that  Frank  was  sleeping. 
A  slight  improvement  was  apparent :  the  bleeding  had  en- 
tirely ceased,  and  a  more  healthy  state  of  the  skin  was  visible. 
Eveleen  smiled,  as  she  looked  on  Edith,  and  whispered,  "  Is  he 
not  better  ?" 

"  He  appears  so,  dear,  but  do  not  let  us  be  too  sanguine ;  we 
will  wait  until  the  doctor  comes;  but  Evey,  you  must  take 
some  refreshment,"  and  leaving  the  room,  Edith  soon  returned 
with  a  cup  of  tea,  a  slice  of  toast,  and  a  soft  egg,  for  the  worn-, 
out  watcher,  and  stood  by  while  she  saw  her  partake  of  some. 

When  Dr.  Randolph  arrived,  his  countenance  expressed 
encouragement.  He  said  that  if  no  other  change  took  place, 
he  might  be  removed  to  his  chamber,  in  the  evening.  Gradu- 
ally he  seemed  to  rally,  and  after  tea,  Mr.  Clifford  and  Uncle 
Peter  carried  him  to  his  own  room,  the  old  servant  wiping  a 
tear  from  his  eye  as  he  felt  how  light  was  the  burden  which  he 
laid  upon  the  bed.  Another  night's  refreshing  sleep  found  him 
still  more  improved,  and  the  next  morning,  when  Eveleen  had 
left  the  room,  Frank  beckoned  Edith  to  his  side,  and  said, 
"  Lean  down  close,  sister,  I  have  been  on  the  borders  of  eter- 
nity, and  I  had  no  fears,  Edith.  All  was  bright,  for  my 
Saviour  was  with  me." 

"Do  not  talk  too  much,  dear  Frank,"  replied  his  sister; 
"quiet  is  very  necessary." 

"  It  does  not  hurt  me  now,  dear,  for  I  am  not  agitated ;  no, 
Edith,  deep,  perfect  peace  reigns  here,"  placing  his  pale  hand 
upon  his  heart.  "  When  you  thought  me  sleeping,  Edith,  my 
heart  was  filled  with  love  to  you,  to  Eveleen,  to  the  whole 
world  ;  but  it  was  ready  to  leave  all,  to  be  with  my  Saviour." 

Fearing  the  excitement  of  any  more  conversation,  Edith  laid 
her  hand  on  Frank's  mouth,  and  smiling,  took  her  seat  at  a 
distant  window.  Leaving  the  room,  she  sent  Eveleen  to  her 
husband,  telling  her  of  their  conversation. 

With  a  smile,  full  of  love,  he  folded  his  wife  in  his  arms,  and 
whispered,  "  Bless  you,  Eveleen,  for  all  your  love  to  your  sick 
husband ;  what  a  ministering  angel  you  have  been  !" 

Passing  her  hand  carressingly  through  his  dark  curls,  she 


GREEN   PASTURES  AND  STILL   WATERS.  325 

pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  pale  lips,  and  replied,  "  God  has  been 
very  good,  dearest ;  he  has  heard  our  prayers :  you  will  be 
raised  again." 

"  It  may  be,  dear,  but  should  it  be  so,  mine  will  be  a  shat- 
tered frame ;  and  I  fear,  Evey,  that  I  shall  always  be  a  burden 
to  those  I  love." 

"  Do  not  say  so,  Frank  ;  it  is  never  a  task  to  minister  to  my 
husband.  I  am  never  tired,  dear,  if  I  can  only  make  you  more 
comfortable." 

From  that  day,  he  began  to  amend  ;  in  a  few  weeks,  was  able 
to  walk  about;  but  the  physician  gave  no  hopes  of  final 
recovery.  During  the  summer,  he  frequently  rode  out,  visited 
Eavenswood  daily,  when  the  weather  was  fine ;  but  he  felt  that 
the  sentence,  had  gone  forth,  and  was  putting  his  house  in 
order,  to  be  ready  for  the  summons. 

Mr.  Berkely  saw  that  he  must  part  with  his  beloved  col- 
league, and  as  gently  as  he  could  do  so,  dropped  hints  to  Edith 
of  the  real  state  of  the  case. 

With  the  dropping  of  the  autumn  leaves,  unfavorable  symp- 
toms returned:  the  cough  became  more  troublesome;  night- 
sweats  commenced  ;  strength  and  appetite  declined  daily.  As 
winter  approached,  he  could  leave  the  house  no  more.  The 
keen  blasts  penetrated  the  little  cottage,  and  shook  his  drooping 
frame,  that  was  now  bending  to  the  tomb.  Ralph  was  constant 
in  his  visits  to  the  sick  man,  and  many  hours  of  sweet  and  holy 
communion  did  these  young  men  spend  together.  Gerald  came 
also,  but  not  so  frequently,  for  the  sight  of  sickness  and  death 
was  not  welcome  to  one  who  was  yet  so  far  astray  from  God. 

Eveleen  was  the  same  devoted,  cheerful  wife;  for  although 
her  heart  was  often  bursting,  she  would  not  let  her  husband  see 
her  anguish,  and  when  overcharged  with  too  much  sorrow,  she 
would  fly,  for  a  few  minutes,  to  her  room,  and  on  her  knees, 
before  God,  would  pray  for  strength,  returning  to  her  husband 
with  a  smile  upon  her  face.  None  knew,  but  her  Redeemer, 
how  severe  were  these  conflicts.  At  last,  unable  to  leave  hia 
l)cd,  Eveleen  daily  read  to  him  from  the  Words  of  God,  and 
such  hymns  as  he  selected  for  his  favorites.  Mr.  Berkely 


"326  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

whispered  words  of  unspeakable  comfort.  Edith,  with  htr 
strong  faith,  hovered  daily  around  his  dying  couch,  and  Ralph 
and  Madge  were  sweet  sympathizers. 

Little  Frank  was  much  in  his  father's  room,  and  lying  often 
on  the  bed  by  his  side.  He  received  many  a  sweet  lesson,  even 
at  this  early  age,  from  his  dying  parent.  When  Eveleen  was 
sometimes  compelled  to  leave  the  room,  she  would  say, 
"Franky,  do  you  see  that  tumbler?  When  papa  wants  a 
drink,  hand  it  to  him,  dear,"  and  the  little  fellow  would  watch, 
carefully  attending  to  his  father's  wants. 

"  Papa,  shall  I  hand  you  '  Daily  Food '?' "  (alluding  to  a  little 
book,  which  he  saw  his  father  frequently  read).  "  Papa,  shall 
I  sing  a  little  hymn?" 

"Yes,  my  son;"  and  the  sweet  child  would  lisp  out, — 

"  There  is  a  happy  land, 

Far,  far  away. 
Where  saints  and  glory  stand, 

Bright,  bright  as  day. 
Oh,  we  shall  happy  be, 
When,  from  sin  and  sorrow  free, 
Lord,  we  shall  dwell  with  Thee, 

Blest,  blest  for  aye." 

"Is  not  that  a  pretty  hymn,  papa?  Mamma  taught  it  to 
me.  Now,  papa,  shall  I  bring  you  some  nice  cologne?"  and, 
running  to  the  bureau,  the  little  fellow  would  get  the  bottle, 
and  climbing  up  to  the  side  of  the  bed  would  bathe  his  father's 
head,  put  some  on  his  handkerchief,  and  holding  it  to  his  nose, 
he  would  kiss  him  affectionately,  and  patting  his  face,  would 
say,  "Now,  papa,  you  are  tired;  let  us  go  to  sleep;"  and 
throwing  his  arms  around  his  father,  Eveleen  would  often  find 
him  thus  fondly  ministering  to  his  comfort. 

Winter  wore  gradually  away.  With  the  advent  of  the 
snowdrop  and  the  crocus,  the  last  symptoms  of  consumption 
appeared.  Mrs.  Austin  was  summoned,  and  Eveleen  convinced 
now  that  she  soon  must  resign  her  beloved  companion,  sent  for 
Edith  to  come  quickly. 

When  she  arrived,  Eveleen  threw  herself  upon  her  sister's 


GREEN   PASTURES    AND   STILL   WATERS.  327 

bosom,  and  exclaimed,  "Sister,  it  cannot  be  much  longer. 
Perhaps  Frank  has  something  to  say,  some  particular  request 
to  make;  should  he  not  know  how  short  his  time  may  be?  I 
cannot  tell  him,  sister, — will  you  ?" 

"  I  will  endeavor  to  do  as  you  request,  Evey.  I  think  that 
he  ought  to  know  the  truth." 

Edith  entered  his  room.  He  lay,  the  picture  of  weakness. 
His  wasted  features  and  pallid  face;  his  hollow  cheeks  and 
tender,  beseeching  eyes,  so  different  from  the  bright,  dancing 
orbs,  which  once  illumined  his  face  all  deeply  affected  his 
sister's  heart.  She  took  her  seat  by  his  side,  and  taking  the 
cold,  clammy  hand  in  her  own,  she  kissed  it  fervently ;  then, 
pressing  her  own  hand  upon  the  cold  forehead,  where  the  dews 
of  consumption  lay,  in  drops  as  large  as  peas,  moistening  the 
damp  hair,  she  whispered,  "  Frank,  you  are  very  weak,  dear ; 
none  but  Jesus  can  help  you  now." 

"  Yes,  dear  sister,"  replied  he,  while  his  lips  quivered  with 
suppressed  feeling,  "  none  but  Jesus,  now ;  but  he  never  leaves 
me,  Edith." 

"  Are  you  aware,  dearest,  that  his  messenger  is  very  near, 
even  at  your  door?  Have  you  anything  to  say?  any  request 
to  make?" 

"  I  have  wished  to  live,  sister,  for  Eveleen  and  Frank's  sake ; 
it  requires  a  strong  faith  to  leave  such  dear  objects.  Some- 
times my  heart  yearns  to  be  spared,  for  their  sakes ;  but  God's 
holy  will  be  done.  For  the  future,  my  hopes  are  full  of  glory. 
But,  Edith,  you  will  be  a  sister  to  my  Eveleen  ;  you  will  com- 
fort, cheer,  sustain  her,  and  should  she  be  taken  from  my  boy, 
you  will  be  a  mother  to  our  child  ;  will  you  not,  Edith  ?" 
Tears  were  streaming  down  the  pale  face,  as  he  made  this 
tender  appeal. 

"I  will,  my  brother;  you  need  not  fear,"  replied  Edith;  "I 
shall  love  him,  for  my  brother's  sake," 

"Now,  sister,  on  this  death-bed,  let  me  thank  you  for  all 
your  care,  your  unfailing  love  to  your  brother.  To  you,  my 
noble  sister,  I  owe  all :  all  my  hopes  of  heaven,  all  my  happi- 
ness on  earth,  all  the  piece  of  this  blessed  moment.  Here  sister, 


328  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

behold  some  of  the  recompense  for  all  your  self-denying  love ; 
it  is  but  a  small  foretaste  of  what  you  shall  reap  in  heaven." 

Edith  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hands  and  wept,  but  they 
were  tears  of  mingled  joy  and  sorrow.  "  Edith,"  he  continued, 
"  you  have  had  bitter  trials,  but  remember,  dear,  '  the  Lord 
loveth  whom  he  chasteneth ;'  '  sorrow  may  endure  for  a  night, 
but  joy  ariseth  ill  the  morning,'  and  'all  things  shall  work 
together  for  good,  to  them  that  love  God.'  You  are  in  the 
hands  of  a  good,  a  wise,  and  gracious  God,  who  will  not  suffer 
you  to  be  tempted  more  than  you  are  able  to  bear.  Now,  one 
more  request  I  have  to  make:  I  must  be  reconciled  to  Mr. 
Austin,  and  I  must  see  my  father  and  my  sister  before  I  die." 

Bending  down  by  her  brother's  side,  Edith  offered  up  a 
heartfelt,  fervent  prayer  for  him,  and,  as  she  arose,  he  drew 
her  down  once  more,  saying,  "  God  bless  you,  Edith,  forever 
and  forever!" 

A  message  was  despatched  to  Mr.  Austin,  who,  willing  to 
lay  aside  all  his  old  resentment,  hastened  to  the  dying  chamber, 
and  assuring  Frank  of  full  forgiveness,  he  was  at  peace.  He 
was  greatly  attracted  by  his  little  grandson,  and  promised 
Frank  to  be  a  faithful  friend,  when  he  was  laid  in  the  silent 
tomb. 

Mr.  Clifford,  whose  heart  was  wrapped  up  in  Frank,  was 
prostrated  at  the  thoughts  of  losing  his  only  son,  and  spent 
most  of  his  time  at  the  cottage,  watching  the  departure  of  the 
beloved  one,  and  endeavoring,  by  the  supply  of  every  want,  to 
soothe  the  last  hours  of  his  idol.  Sending  for  him  to  his  room, 
Frank  addressed  him,  solemnly,  on  this  subject  of  preparation 
for  another  world,  saying,  "  Dear  father,  may  I  hope  to  meet 
you  in  heaven?  Our  mother  is  there.  She  waits  for  us.  God 
is  calling  us  home,  one  by  one.  Let  us  not  be  separated  on  the 
last  great  day."  Mr.  Clifford  was  deeply  affected,  and  prom- 
ised his  sou  to  attend  to  the  concerns  of  the  never-dying  soul. 

Blanche  and  Adele  received  his  dying  counsels  with  deep 
feeling.  Blanche,  especially,  seemed  most  impressed.  His 
appeal  to  Gerald,  to  remember  his  Christian  vows,  was  most 
faithful  and  impressive.  His  message  to  the  people  of  his 


GREEN   PASTURES    AND  STILL  WATERS.  329 

charge  was  full  of  the  yearnings  of  a  faithful  minister.  A  few 
more  days,  and  the  last  messenger  arrived.  Asking  to  be  left 
alone  with  Eveleen,  he  addressed  her  tenderly.  "Evey,  my 
love,  the  Master  has  come.  He  wants  me  in  another  world. 
My  work  is  done  here,  and  I  must  leave  my  sweet  wife.  You 
have  been  a  faithful,  devoted  companion,  and  have  made  my 
life  very  dear  to  me.  It  was  hard  to  give  you  and  Franky  up  ; 
but  it  is  done,  dearest,  and  now  I  commit  you  to  our  own 
Saviour.  He  will  comfort  you.  Edith  will  be  a  tender  sister. 
Bring  up  our  child  for  God,  and  meet  me,  dearest,  where  we 
shall  part  no  more." 

Almost  overwhelmed,  the  young  wife  bent  over  her  beloved 
companion,  and  kissing  him,  said  "  God's  holy  will  be  done. 
A  few  short  years,  perhaps  months,  dear  husband,  and  we  shall 
meet  again.  It  will  not  be  long,  Frank,  for  I  cannot  live 
without  my  husband.  You  are  a  part  of  myself." 

"Send  for  Mr.  Berkely,  Evey.     I  must  see  him  once  more." 

Anxious  to  fulfil  every  request,  she  despatched  a  messenger 
for  the  pastor,  who  was  quickly  at  his  side.  With  words  of 
holy  comfort,  he  soothed  the  dying  man,  repeating  promise  after 
promise.  The  holy  countenance  of  the  departing  Christian 
expressed  all  the  support  which  they  afforded.  Slowly  life 
departed  ;  and  in  the  presence  of  his  afflicted  family,  sustained 
and  cheered  by  the  blessed  hopes  of  immortality,  the  spirit  of 
Frank  Clifford  took  its  flight  for  another  and  better  world. 
Three  short  years  of  ministerial  labor  had  completed  his  mis- 
sion upon  earth ;  but,  if  measured  by  its  results,  he  had  done  a 
great  work,  in  a  short  period,  bringing  many  souls,  reclaimed 
from  the  error  of  their  ways,  home  to  holiness  and  heaven. 
The  need  for  exertion  having  passed  away,  Eveleen  sank 
under  the  weight  of  the  blow.  For  hours  she  would  sit, 
silently  gazing  upon  the  soft  dark  curls,  which  she  had  removed 
ere  the  remains  of  her  husband  were  laid  in  the  tomb.  Edith 
exerted  all  her  powers  to  arouse  her,  but  she  feared  that  it  was 
a  crushed  aud  broken  heart  that  resisted  all  her  efforts. 

By  Mr.  Clifford's  request,  the  remains  were  removed  to  his 
father's  home,  to  be  interred  from  thence ;  and  when,  in  the 


330  EDITH'S    MINISTRY. 

evening,  Edith  observed  the  hearse  approaching  with  the 
sacred  relics,  she  could  not  but  recall  the  image  of  the  bright, 
blooming,  mischievous  boy  that  made  the  house  ring  with  his 
peals  of  merriment ;  the  sanguine,  enthusiastic  youth  ;  the  meek 
and  lowly  minister  of  the  Lord  Jesus ;  and  looking  upon  the 
coffin  which  contained  all  that  was  mortal  of  her  beloved 
brother,  she  could  but  ask,  mournfully,  "And  is  this  all  that  is 
left  of  my  dearest  brother?  But  I  must  not  weep  as  one  who 
sorrows  without  hope,  for  my  brother  sleeps  in  Jesus." 

The  remains  were  conveyed,  solemnly,  to  the  library  amid 
the  train  of  weeping  servants,  who  stood  in  the  entry,  watching 
their  last  reception  in  the  halls  of  Ravenswood.  Previous  to 
interment,  many  were  the  humble  parishioners  who  wept 
around  all  that  was  left  of  their  young  minister ;  and  on  the 
day  of  the  funeral,  throngs  of  the  neighboring  inhabitants, 
numbers  of  his  former  gay  companions,  and  many  of  the  clergy 
from  New  York,  testified  to  the  deep  respect  entertained  for 
the  deceased.  The  services  were  conducted  by  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Berkely,  and  others,  and,  by  the  side  of  his  mother,  the  remains 
of  Frank  Clifford  repose,  until  the  resurrection  morn. 

After  the  return  of  the  funeral  procession,  Edith,  folding 
Eveleen  in  her  arms,  said,  "You  are  mine,  Evey,  now.  Frank 
requested  that  you  might  come  to  me,  and  I  know  father  will 
need  his  little  grandson." 

"  My  parents  want  me,  Edith,  to  come  to  Now  York  ;  but  I 
could  not  bear  the  bustle  of  that  city,  and  I  wish  my  boy 
brought  up  in  the  country.  Its  quiet  soothes  my  spirits,  and 
here  I  can  better  prepare  for  heaven." 

At  Eveleen's  earnest  request,  her  parents  consented  for  her  to 
remain  at  Ravenswood ;  but  with  the  promise  that,  so  soon  as 
she  could,  she  would  visit  them,  with  her  little  boy. 

During  all  these  trials,  Edith  felt  that  she  was  walking 
beside  "  the  green  pastures  and  still  waters"  of  salvation.  The 
ordinances  of  the  Gospel  were  still  more  refreshing,  her  Bible 
more  precious,  her  seasons  of  communion  more  holy.  Not  for 
one  moment  did  she  feel  forsaken ;  but,  assured  of  her  brother's 
blessedness,  and  of  her  own  interest  in  glorious  hopes  of  the 


GREEN   PASTURES    AND   8T!  LL   WATERS.  331 

Gospel,  she  maintained  a  holy,  peaceful  walk  with  God.  All 
the  affections  of  her  heart  were  drawn  towards  Eveleen,  who, 
though  resigned,  felt  that  her  spirit  was  crushed,  and  her  health 
broken;  and  though  she  experienced  "the  peace  that  passeth 
all  understanding,"  her  heart  yearned  for  the  beloved  one,  now 
sleeping  in  the  silent  grave.  Edith  took  upon  herself  the  task 
of  removing  all  the  furniture  necessary  for  Eveleen's  room, 
from  the  cottage,  and  also  of  preparing  for  the  sale. 

The  day  before  it  took  place,  Eveleen,  laying  her  head  upon 
Edith's  shoulder,  whispered,  "  Take  me  once  more  to  the  cot- 
tage. I  must  see  it  again."  And,  driving  slowly  and  sadly  to 
the  sweet  home,  Edith  granted  her  request.  Entering  the  little 
parlor,  Eveleen  laid  her  mourning  bonnet  and  veil  down  upon 
the  table,  and  sitting  on  the  sofa,  clad  in  her  widow's  weeds, 
looked  around  upon  all  the  familiar  objects  with  an  expression 
of  soul-stirring  grief. 

"  Edith,  it  was  a  little  paradise.  I  do  not  believe  that  there 
ever  was  a  more  happy  pair.  Not  one  jarring  word  ever  passed 
between  us.  Frank  was  always  so  kind,  so  tender.  O  Edith ! 
how  can  I  live  without  my  husband?" 

Taking  her  in  her  arms,  Edith  smoothed  the  bands  of  soft, 
light  hair,  that  lay  folded  beneath  her  widow's  cap,  and,  as  she 
looked  upon  her  delicate  loveliness,  and  saw  the  blue  veins 
coursing  beneath  the  transparent  skin,  the  inward  conviction 
pressed  upon  her  that  she  would  not  long  be  left  behind. 
Walking  through  every  room,  she  lingered  longest  in  the  li- 
brary. Returning  to  the  parlor,  she  replaced  her  bonnet  and 
veil,  gathered  a  few  fresh  spring  flowers,  and  casting  one  more 
longing,  lingering  look  behind,  with  a  slow  step  she  returned 
to  the  carriage,  and,  folded  in  Edith's  arms,  returned  to  Ravens- 
wood. 

Frank's  death  had  been  a  severe  blow  to  his  father,  for  he 
had  built  many  hopes  upon  his  only  son.  Under  the  influence 
of  grief,  his  step  failed,  his  spirits  sank,  and  many  alarming 
symptoms  appeared.  So  soon  as  be  was  seated,  he  was  asleep, 
spoke  seldom  to  any  one,  and  spent  much  more  time  alone. 
Even  little  Frank,  with  his  merry,  sprightly  sports,  did  not 


332  EDITH'S  MINISTRY, 

interest  him ;  and  the  family  physician  recommended  great 
watchfulness,  as  he  feared  paralysis. 

One  day  he  was  unusually  late  in  his  appearance,  and  Edith, 
going  to  his  room,  found  him  unable  to  rise,  and  on  approach- 
ing observed  that  he  was  entirely  insensible.  Sending  for  the 
physician,  it  was  pronounced,  as  they  all  feared,  an  attack  of 
paralysis.  For  several  days  there  seemed  no  amendment,  but 
at  the  close  of  a  week,  he  rallied  somewhat.  At  the  close  of 
the  third,  his  speech  returned,  and  there  was  a  prospect  of 
recovery.  Edith  was  unwearied  in  her  attentions,  but  assisted 
by  Madge,  her  labors  were  much  relieved,  although  her  father 
was  never  happy  when  she  was  absent ;  consequently,  she  spent 
much  of  her  time  in  his  room.  When  he  was  sufficiently  recov- 
ered, he  was  taken  down  stairs,  and  being  unable  to  walk,  was 
wheeled  about  on  the  piazza.  His  whole  aspect  seemed 
changed.  Child-like  and  docile,  he  loved  to  talk  about  Frank, 
and  was  never  tired  of  listening  to  Eveleen's  account  of  his 
goodness,  his  preaching,  his  labors,  and  his  dying  words.  For 
whole  hours  would  he  listen  to  the  same  story,  while  tears 
streamed  down  his  face.  The  strength  of  Mr.  Clifford's  mind 
^ras  gone,  but  the  humility  and  gentleness  of  one  under  the 
drawings  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  were  daily  more  apparent.  His 
memory  was  much  impaired,  and  often  he  imagined  those  who 
had  been  dead  for  years  were  here  yesterday,  and  could  take 
no  account  of  time. 

"  Evey,  did  you  know  my  wife  ?  She  came  to  see  me  last 
night.  She  told  me  to  follow  Frank,  and  I  mean  to  do  it, 
Evey.  I  have  not  always  loved  God,  but  I  love  him  now ;  I 
love  to  think  about  him,  and  to  pray  to  him.  Do  you  love 
God,  Evey?"  These  marks  of  the  weakness  of  his  intellect 
deeply  affected  his  daughter  Edith,  and  she  bestowed  upon  him 
all  the  watchful  care  that  she  would  have  done  upon  a  feeble 
child.  His  health  improved  rapidly,  but  the  mind  seemed 
gone,  beyond  the  power  of  recovery.  He  had  now  no  ability 
to  attend  to  the  business  of  his  large  farm,  and  Edith  had  to 
depend  upon  Gerald  for  advice  and  assistance.  The  familiar 
intercourse  which  this  made  necessary  was  beneficial  to  both 


GREEN   PASTURES    AND   81  tLL   WATERS.  333 

and  gradually  the  reserve  which  had  existed  began  to  wear 
away. 

But  she  was  soon  convinced  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
remain  at  Eavenswood,  for  the  place  was  much  too  large  for  a 
woman's  care,  and  as  Gerald  was  only  with  them  once  a  week, 
the  responsibilities  were  too  heavy.  She  dreaded  the  effect  of 
removal  upon  her  father's  mind,  and  delayed  the  step  on  that 
account.  Blanche  had  continued  to  manifest  much  more 
interest  in  the  things  of  God  since  the  death  of  her  brother, 
and  acting  upon  hasty  impulses,  she  begged  permission  to  be 
received  into  the  church,  on  next  season  of  confirmation.  Mr. 
Berkely  kept  her  for  some  time  in  a  state  of  probation ;  but 
when  she  still  manifested  the  same  desire,  and  exhibited  many 
marks  of  a  changed  nature,  he  no  longer  refused  her.  Edith, 
with  all  a  sister's  faithfulness,  laid  before  her  all  that  would  be 
expected  of  her;  and  even  Gerald,  aware  of  his  own  defection, 
did  not  greatly  encourage  her;  but  on  the  day  appointed, 
Blanche  was  among  the  company  confirmed,  and  manifested 
much  tenderness  of  feeling  on  the  solemn  occasion. 

"  And  now  none  are  left,  who  are  old  enough,  but  I,"  said 
Adele  ;  "why  am  I  so  indifferent?  But  I  am  not  indifferent.  I 
must  be  really  changed,  before  I  take  such  a  solemn  step.  I 
am  afraid  that  Blanche  will  go  back  again  to  the  world,  she  is 
so  inconstant ;  and  I  am  resolved  never  to  profess  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian, unless  I  am  sure  that  it  is  so."  But  Adele  had  many 
serious  thoughts,  and  Edith  hoped  more  for  her  than  for  Blanche. 

Christmas  came  again,  but  it  was  a  sad  season  at  Ravenswood: 
it  brought  together  the  family  circle,  but  the  mother  was  not 
there,  Frank  was  no  more  among  them,  and  Mr.  Clifford  was 
but  a  wreck  of  what  he  had  been.  Lilly,  Emily,  and  little 
Frank,  enjoyed  the  presents,  for  childhood's  griefs  soon 
give  way  to  childhood's  joys.  Looking  around  among  his 
children,  Mr.  Clifford  said,  sadly,  "Christmas  can  never 
be  a  happy  time  again  ;  my  Mary,  my  Frank,  are  here  no 
more,  and  I  am  getting  to  be  a  weak,  old  man.  Edith,  come 
here,  Edith ;  let  me  lean  on  you,  while  I  try  to  walk."  Able 
now  to  leave  his  chair,  he  could  walk  with  the  aid  of  a  crutch 


334  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

and  Edith's  arm.  "  Edith,  do  you  ever  get  tired  of  waiting 
on  your  old  father?" 

"  Never,  father ;  it  is  always  a  pleasure  to  give  you  comfort." 

Patting  her  fondly  on  the  cheek,  he  said,  "  You  are  a  good 
child,  Edith ;  God  will  bless  you,  dear." 

Convinced  now  that  they  must  leave  Ravenswood,  Edith 
prepared  to  remove  to  Hazel  Glen,  but  was  much  perplexed  as 
to  the  best  way  of  informing  her  father.  Thinking  it  best  to 
pay  a  visit  there  first,  she  proposed  a  ride, — taking  her  father, 
Eveleen,  and  little  Frank.  The  distance  was  ten  miles  from 
Ravenswood,  and  they  expected  to  spend  the  day.  Their  road 
lay  through  a  very  picturesque  country.  Little  Frank  was  full 
of  delight.  Mr.  Clifford  enjoyed  the  ride ;  but  nothing  could 
move  Eveleen,  whose  thoughts  were  always  with  the  sainted 
dead.  When  arriving  in  sight  of  Hazel  Glen,  Edith  was 
greatly  charmed  by  the  rural  beauty  of  her  new  home.  It  was 
an  old-fashioned  mansion,  with  a  piazza  all  around,  situated  in 
the  midst  of  a  woody  dell.  There  was  a  fine  garden  attached 
to  the  place,  laid  out  in  winding  paths,  and  the  piazza  was  em- 
bowered in  creeping  roses,  clematis,  and  jessamine.  Behind  the 
house  was  a  range  of  lofty  hills,  stretching  away  in  the  distance. 
All  that  she  regretted  was  that  she  could  see  the  noble  Hudson  no 
more,  excepting  a  distant  view  from  the  lofty  hills.  When 
they  drove  up  to  the  door,  they  were  received,  respectfully,  by 
John  Holland  and  his  wife,  who  had  charge  of  the  farm. 

"  How  do  you  do,  ma'am  ?  You  are  welcome  to  Hazel  Glen. 
I  suppose  that  this  is  the  new  mistress  ?" 

"  I  am  coming  to  live  with  you,  John,  very  soon,  and  I 
thought  that  I  would  like  to  see  my  new  home  first." 

Taking  her  father  by  the  arm,  she  led  him  into  the  kitchen, 
the  only  room  that  was  furnished.  Soon  a  comfortable  meal  was 
prepared,  and  Edith  was  pleased  to  see  her  father  so  cheerfully 
enjoying  his  dinner.  After  dinner,  she  led  him  around  the 
orchard,  among  the  cows  and  poultry,  and  he  seemed  quite 
delighted  with  his  visit. 

"Edith,  I  should  like  to  pay  a  long  visit  here,  it  seems  so 
comfortable." 


GREEN    PASTURES    AND   STILL     WATERS.  335 

"  Would  you,  dear  father  ?  Then  you  and  Evey  shall  come, 
and  bring  little  Frank  along.  It  would  be  so  nice  to  have 
their  company." 

After  all  necessary  arrangements,  Edith  turned  homewards, 
promising  her  father  the  pleasure  of  another  visit  to  Hazel 
Glen.  In  a  few  weeks,  the  furniture  for  a  sitting  room,  and 
for  Mr.  Clifford's  and  Eveleen's  chambers  was  sent,  and  one 
fine  day,  Edith  set  out  again  with  her  father,  to  the  new  home. 
She  had  some  trouble,  however,  in  leaving  him,  for  he  clung  as 
closely  to  her  as  if  she  were  a  mother,  instead  of  a  child ;  but, 
on  promising  to  come  very  soon,  he  consented  to  let  her  go. 

Soon  all  the  preparations  were  completed,  and  the  business  of 
moving  commenced;  Madge  receiving  the  furniture  at.  Hazel 
Glen,  and  Edith  superintending  the  removal.  Mr.  Clifford  was 
greatly  puzzled,  for  he  recognized  much  of  the  furniture  from 
Ravenswood.  The  house  was  speedily  arranged,  all  the  family 
sent  away  excepting  Edith,  Uncle  Peter,  and  nurse.  One  sad 
visit  to  the  old  elm,  to  the  riverside,  to  Woodbine  Cottage,  and 
to  the  graves  of  her  beloved,  and  Edith  turned  back  forever 
upon  the  dear  home  of  her  childhood,  the  scene  of  so  many  joys 
and  sorrows.  Another  step  was  taken  in  her  earthly  pilgrim- 
age, but  still  upward  and  onward,  and  by  the  side  of  "the  green 
pastures  and  still  waters  of  salvation,"  she  walked  with  a  serene 
and  even  joyful  step. 

When  she  arrived  at  Hazel  Glen,  her  father  was  standing  on 
the  piazza,  watching  for  his  daughter.  Limping  forward  on 
his  crutch,  he  embraced  her  affectionately,  and  said,  "  Edith, 
how  is  it?  They  are  bringing  Ravenswood  here:  here  are  the 
tables  and  the  chairs,  the  pictures  and  the  harp,  and  the  piano; 
but  these  are  not  the  trees,  and  I  cannot  see  the  river." 

'•  The  best  of  it  is  here,  dear  father,  all  your  children,  and 
that  makes  home;  don't  it,  father?" 

"Yes  it  is;  Edith,  where  you  are,  there  is  home  for  your 
father.  But  you  are  tired,  Edith.  There  is  a  nice  supper 
waiting  for  you." 

Madge  led  her  up  to  her  own  room.  Every  familiar  article 
had  been  neatly  arranged  :  the  same  white  muslin  curtains,  her 


336  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

book-case,  her  work-table,  everything  just  as  it  was  at  Ravens- 
wood  ;  only  the  room  was  not  quite  so  large,  nor  the  ceiling  so 
high  ;  but  then  it  was  so  cosy,  so  comfortable !  Kissing  Madge, 
she  said,  "It  is  all  right,  dear:  it  looks  very  home-like  already, 
Madge." 

Descending  to  the  dining-room,  a  very  nice  supper,  with  her 
favorite  dishes,  was  prepared  ;  and  after  partaking  of  the  plen- 
tiful repast,  Edith  consecrated  her  new  home  to  God  and  heaven; 
and  retiring  that  night,  blessed  God  for  this  quiet  sanctuary  in 
the  midst  of  his  own  beautiful  works. 

Soon  she  found  that  she  was  too  far  from  any  place  of  wor- 
ship to  think  of  attending  regularly,  and  her  benevolent  spirit 
commenced  the  work  of  exploring  the  neighborhood.  She 
found  that  many  families  lived  within  the  space  of  two  or  three 
miles,  and  that  all  along  the  Glen  were  scattered  poor  people, 
who  worked  in  the  neighboring  factories,  which  bordered  a 
creek  close  by.  The  population  was  greater  than  around 
Ravenswood  ;  and  she  had  not  been  there  more  than  five  or  six 
weeks  ere  she  made  an  attempt  to  open  a  Sunday-school  in  her 
own  house.  The  hall  was  large,  and  in  summer  seats  were 
brought  in,  and  thus  her  first  efforts  commenced. 

On  the  first  Sunday,  five  dirty,  ragged  children  made  their 
appearance.  She  took  them  into  the  kitchen,  and  Mary 
showed  them  how  to  tidy  themselves.  Edith  gave  them  some 
good  advice  about  cleanliness,  provided  them  with  hymn-books 
and  spelling-books, — for  they  could  not  read, — and  after  some 
religious  instruction  they  were  sent  home,  much  pleased  with 
their  first  Sunday.  On  the  next  Sunday  ten  came,  and  so  until, 
by  the  close  of  the  summer,  she  had  gathered  fifty.  Benches 
were  now  provided,  and  the  school  prospered.  Madge, 
Blanche,  and  Adele  all  aided  in  teaching.  Her  father  seemed 
interested,  and  she  gave  him  a  class  of  little  boys,  whom  he 
taught  the  elements  of  education  ;  but  always  at  the  end  of  his 
exercises  he  gave  the  little  fellows  such  sweet  and  holy 
instruction,  that  none  who  heard  him  could  restrain  a  gushing 
tear. 

Gerald  and  Ralph  could  not  reach  them  so  easily  as  form- 


GREEN   PASTURES   AND  STILL   WATERS.  337 

erly,  consequently  their  visits  were  not  so  frequent ;  but,  when 
they  first  came  up  the  glen,  Edith  perceived  that  they  were  ac- 
companied by  a  stranger,  who,  on  entering  the  house,  she  recog- 
nized as  Mr.  Percival.  He  was  received  kindly  and  entertained 
hospitably,  for  Edith  could  not  forget  the  debt  of  gratitude 
which  she  owed  to  him ;  and,  moreover,  receiving  him  as  one 
of  God's  ambassadors,  she  esteemed  it  a  privilege  to  entertain 
him  as  a  servant  of  her  Lord. 

On  Sunday  morning,  his  eye  glistened  with  delight  as  he  saw 
the  preparations  for  the  Sunday-school ;  and  Edith  was  well 
provided  on  that  day,  for  Ralph,  Gerald,  and  Mr.  Percival,  all 
aided  her.  A  notice  given  in  the  morning  brought  a  large 
number  in  the  evening  to  a  cottage  lecture,  given  by  Mr.  Per- 
cival. Many  of  the  families  of  the  better  class  attended ;  and 
after  service,  Edith  suggested  the  idea  of  regular  religious  ser- 
vices on  Sunday  evening.  Many  thought  it  impracticable,  but 
Edith  waited  patiently  for  the  leadings  of  Providence.  Mr. 
Percival  remained  a  few  days,  and  expressed  great  interest  in 
Edith's  work ;  but  Madge  and  Adele  whispered  to  each  other 
that  it  was  plain  enough  his  interest  was  in  Edith's  self. 

After  a  short  time,  Mr.  Clifford  began  to  sigh  for  home,  and 
asked  Edith  "if  it  was  not  time  to  return  ?" 

"Would  you  not  like  to  stay  here,  father?"  asked  Edith; 
"we  have  such*  a  pleasant  home,  and  there  is  so  much  of  the 
furniture  of  our  old  home  here." 

"  But,  Edith,  we  are  wanted  at  Ravenswood ;  autumn  is 
coming,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  to  do  for  the  winter." 

It  was  hard  to  persuade  him  to  be  contented.  At  last  Edith 
thought  of  the  little  boys  in  Sunday-school,  and  said,  "  Why, 
father,  what  would  become  of  your  little  boys  in  the  Sunday- 
school  ?  They  are  very  fond  of  you,  and  they  are  learning  so 
fast :  it  would  seem  a  pity  to  give  them  up." 

"  True,  Edith :  that  would  never  do  ;  I  should  be  very  sorry 
if  they  would  not  come  any  more  to  Sunday-school."  From 
that  time  he  ceased  to  talk  about  going  home,  and  continued 
1o  teach  the  little  boys  their  simple  lessons. 

Another  means  of  usefulness  was  started,  in  her  Saturday 
22 


338  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

afternoon  class,  which  consisted  of  young  girls,  whom  she 
taught  to  write,  to  cipher,  and  to  sew,  mingling  religious  truth 
with  their  other  instruction.  Her  father  was  deeply  interested 
in  all  her  works  of  benevolence  ;  and  though  he  seemed  to  ex- 
hibit no  interest  in  other  things,  it  was  an  affecting  sight  to  see 
him,  prematurely  old,  bending  over  his  Bible  for  hours  at  a 
time ;  coming  to  Edith  with  all  the  simplicity  of  a  child  for 
explanation  of  difficult  passages,  and  ready  always  to  help,  in 
his  simple  way,  in  her  deeds  of  charity.  His  memory  still 
seemed  clouded.  Events  occurring  recently,  he  seldom  remem- 
bered for  more  than  a  day  at  a  time,  but  past  occurrences  were 
present,  as  though  transacted  but  yesterday.  Thus,  he  always 
connected  Edith's  name  with  Gerald  :  for  he  only  remembered 
their  early  engagement ;  but  the  history  of  Blanche  had  faded 
from  his  memory,  and  he  never  could  understand  why  Editli 
and  Gerald  were  not  associated  as  formerly.  Sometimes  he 
thought  that  Frank  had  gone  away,  but,  when  talking  with 
broken-hearted  Eveleen,  then  he  realized  that  he  was  no  more 
among  the  living. 

Clouds  rested  on  all  subjects  except  on  that  of  religion. 
More  humble,  more  docile,  more  prayerful  daily,  there  could  be 
no  doubt  of  the  great  moral  change  which  had  passed  upon 
Mr.  Clifford;  and  Edith  still  hoped  that  time  and  quietness, 
Avith  the  blessing  of  God,  would  yet  restore  his  shattered  intel- 
lect wholly.'  Engaged  in  constant  efforts  to  bless  others,  the 
poignant  remembrance  of  the  past  was  daily  fading  from  her 
heart,  and  she  constantly  realized  the  blessedness  of  those 
"green  pastures  and  still  wTaters,"  by  which  the  Saviour  leads 
*iis  flock. 

One  evening  she  led  her  father  out,  on  his  usual  walk  down 
the  shady  glen.  He  appeared  to  have  something  on  his  mind. 
"Edith,"  said  he,  "I  was  reading  to-day,  where  our  Saviour 
was  baptized;  and  when  he  gave  his  last  message  to  his  disci- 
ples, did  he  not  say,  'Go,  baptize  them:  in  the  name  of  the 
Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost?'  " 

"  He  did,  father ;  and  it  is  our  duty  to  do  the  same." 

"  Edith,  T  believe  that  I  am  a  changed  nuvn.     I  know  that  I 


GREEN   PASTURES    AND   STILL   WATERS.  339 

love  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  I  want  to  obey  all  his  commands.  I 
was  brought  up  among  the  Friends,  Edith,  and  I  have  never 
been  baptized.  Do  you  think  Mr.  Berkely  would  baptize  me? 
Perhaps  he  might  think  me  too  weak-minded  for  such  an  act." 

"  I  think  not,  dear  father.     We  will  send  for  him  to-morrow." 

On  the  following  week,  the  good  pastor  paid  his  first  visit  to 
Hazel  Glen,  and  fully  convinced  of  the  reality  of  the  spiritual 
change  which  had  enlightened  the  diseased  mind  of  his  old 
friend,  unhesitatingly  received  him  into  the  fold  of  Christ. 
Silver  hairs  had  mingled  with  the  raven  locks  which  once 
adorned  his  noble  head,  and  the  step  of  the  once  proud  man  was 
feeble,  and  his  voice  tremulous ;  but  a  look  of  childlike  peace 
and  simplicity  rested  upon  his  features,  as  he  knelt  to  receive 
the  pastor's  blessing. 

Mr.  Berkely  listened  to  Edith's  account  of  the  destitution 
of  her  neighborhood,  and  promised  to  interest  himself  in 
obtaining  books,  papers,  &c.,  for  her  enterprise  of  Christian 
benevolence.  He  was  deeply  affected  when  he  looked  upon 
the  ethereal  complexion  of  Eveleen  Clifford,  and  perceived 
she  was  rapidly  preparing  to  follow  her  husband  home. 

The  family  had  so  long  been  deprived  of  the  regular  means 
of  grace,  that,  sending  an  invitation  to  Christian  families  to 
join  in  the  service,  on  the  following  Sunday,  Mr.  Berkely 
administered  the  communion  to  the  family  circle,  and,  for  the 
first  time,  Mr.  Clifford,  partaking  of  the  holy  service,  was  fully 
received  into  the  Church  of  Christ. 

Eveleen  seemed  rapidly  to  grow  in  grace,  but  Edith  saw, 
with  the  rest  of  the  family,  that  her  flight  was  upward.  She 
interested  herself  in  the  Sunday-school,  so  long  as  her  strength 
allowed  of  such  labors,  but  at  last  was  compelled  to  resign  her 
class  into  the  hands  of  another  teacher.  One  evening,  seated 
alone  in  the  parlor,  Edith  overheard  her  playing  a  sweet 
prelude,  and  singing,  in  tender,  mournful  tones,  these  touch- 
ing lines : 

"  I  am  wearing  awa',  Jean 
Like  snaw  in  the  thaw,  Jean, 
I  am  wearing  awa' 
To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 


340  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  There's  nae  sorrow  there,  Jean, 
But  a's  bright  and  fair,  Jean, 
And  soon  I'll  he  there, 
In  the  land  o'  the  leal." 

With  a  soft  sigh,  Edith  entered,  and  the  sweet  woman  said, 
mournfully,  "  That  is  true,  Edith ;  I  shall  soon  be  with 
Frank,  and  my  blessed  Saviour.  The  hand  of  death  was 
placed  upon  my  heart  when  my  husband  departed,  and  I 
am  going  gently  home."  Edith  could  not  answer,  her  heart 
was  too  full.  From  that  evening,  her  strength  rapidly  failed. 
Sweet  and  touching  was  the  communion  between  the  broken- 
hearted Eveleen  and  Mr.  Clifford, — reading  to  her  daily,  and 
watching  over  her  departing  moments,  as  tenderly  as  if  she 
were  his  own  daughter.  Anxious  to  see  her  parents,  they 
were  sent  for,  and  arrived  in  time  to  receive  her  parting  sigh. 

It  was  on  Sunday  evening  when  the  last  messenger  arrived. 
"  Take  me  near  the  window,  Edith,  let  me  see  the  sun  once 
more.  In  the  land  where  I  am  going,  '  the  sun  shall  not  go 
down  by  day,  neither  the  moon  by  night;'  there  is  no  sickness, 
no  death,  no  parting  in  heaven.  I  shall  soon  be  at  home. 
Edith,  you  will  be  a  mother  to  my  child  :  Frank  left  him  to 
you,  dear,  if  I  should  be  taken  away.  Bring  up  my  darling 
boy  for  God,  for  heaven,  Edith.  I  have  prayed  constantly, 
that  he  may  become  a  minister.  Now  lay  me  down,  Edith. 
Mother,  father,  come  near  me ;  kiss  me  once  before  I  go ; 
follow  me  to  heaven.  My  sins  are  all  pardoned,  through  a 
Saviour's  blood;  in  him  alone  I  trust."  Calmly,  sweetly,  the 
spirit  passed  away ;  and  before  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun 
had  faded  from  the  horizon,  the  soul  of  Eveleen  Clifford  was 
with  her  Saviour,  in  that  land  where  all  tears  were  forever 
wiped  from  her  eyes. 

In  a  few  days,  they  laid  her  by  the  side  of  her  beloved 
husband,  where,  together,  they  sleep  in  Jesus.  So  grew  the 
family  chain  in  heaven ;  and  as  link  by  link  was  lifted  to  the 
skies,  they  were  still  invisibly  united  to  those  which  yet  re- 
mained on  earth. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

AUTUMN  LEAVES  AND  THE  OLD  ELM  TREE. 

NE  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  Edith  observed 
an  old  vehicle  driving  slowly  up  the  glen,  and, 
as  it  drew  nearer,  she  perceived  that  it  was  the 
old  gig,  and  Aunt  Priscilla.  She  welcomed  the 
old  lady  cordially,  who  looked  around  with 
evident  satisfaction  on  Edith's  home. 

"  Well,  sure  now,  it's  a  pleasant  sight  to  see 
you   the   mistress   of  your  own   home,  with  no 
master  to  say  what  you  shall  do." 

"  I  owe  it  all  to  you,  dear  aunty,  and  can  never  tell  you  how 
grateful  I  am  for  all  your  goodness." 

"  Take  an  old  woman's  advice,  Edith  :  never  bring  a  master 
here  ;  you'd  rue  the  day,  mark  my  words." 

"  You  need  not  fear,  aunty,  my  lot  in  life  is  fixed  ;  I  am  to 
be  a  mother  to  the  many,  and  not  to  the  few.  Orphan 
children,  and  an  afflicted  father,  claim  my  services,  and  they 
shall  have  them." 

"  Well,  dear,  you've  been  a  good  mother  here,  and  God  will 
bless  you ;  your  latter  days  will  be  full  of  peace,  and  your 
place  in  heaven  among  the  highest.  And  you've  lost  another, 
Edith,  since  I  was  here.  Well,  I  wasn't  surprised  to  hear 
that  Evey  had  gone,  for  I  always  reckoned  that  she  could 
not  live  without  her  husband.  How  is  your  father  now, 
Edith  ?" 

341 


342  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  His  health  is  excellent,  but  he  is  still  lame,  and  his  min  J 
feeble,  although  I  see  some  improvement, — he  is  more  cheer- 
ful, and  shows  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  a '/I  good  works. 
You've  come  to  make  ine  a  long  visit,  aunty.  I  have  a  great 
deal  to  show  you,  and  many  questions  to  ask." 

Aunt  Priscilla  was  soon  busy  among  the  poultry,  interested 
herself  about  the  dairy,  the  preserves,  the  pickles,  and  the 
jellies,  for  she  had  been  famous  in  her  day  in  these  depart- 
ments ;  but  Edith  was  pained  on  observing  the  great  change 
in  her  old  relation ;  a  trifle  fatigued  her,  her  memory  was  bad, 
and  her  health  much  impaired.  She  redoubled  her  kindness 
to  the  old  lady,  for  she  saw  that  her  pilgrimage  was  nearly 
ended. 

Edith  was  still  hopeful  about  her  plans  of  benevolence. 
She  had  named  the  hill  directly  back  of  the  house,  Mount 
Pisgah,  and  imagination  saw  already  the  little  church  which 
she  intended  should  adorn  its  summit.  Her  Sunday-school 
prospered  abundantly.  Other  teachers  had  become  interested, 
and  a  great  change  was  manifest  in  the  whole  neighborhood. 
Instead  of  groups  of  dirty,  ragged  children,  climbing  trees, 
robbing  birds'  nests,  swimming  in  the  creek,  or  pilfering  fruit 
from  the  farmers'  orchards,  might  now  be  seen  everywhere, 
companies  of  neatly  clad  youth,  wending  their  way  up  the 
glen,  with  cheerful,  smiling  faces,  to  their  pleasant  Sunday- 
school.  An  improvement  in  morals  was  everywhere  apparent. 
The  parents  began  to  take  some  interest  in  the  new  order  of 
things,  and  Miss  Edith  became  an  oracle  among  them.  In  all 
their  troubles  they  came  to  her  for  advice :  if  there  were 
dissensions,  she  endeavored  to  heal  them ;  if  distress,  to 
alleviate  its  keenness;  if  sickness,  to  smooth  its  pillow;  if 
death  laid  its  cold  hand  upon  any  of  her  flock,  she  was  near 
to  whisper  words  of  comfort,  and  to  hold  up  a  crucified 
Saviour  before  the  departing  soul.  Her  house  was  always 
open,  on  Sunday  evenings,  for  cottage  lectures ;  and  when  no 
clergyman  could  be  obtained,  or  when  Ralph  was  not  present, 
she  read  a  practical  sermon,  and  conducted  the  religious 
exercises.  The  evening  congregations  increased  rapidly,  and 


AUTUMN  LEAVES  AND  THE  OLD  ELM  TREE.      343 

Edith  consulted  Mr.  Bcrkely  as  to  the  expediency  of  com- 
mencing her  subscription  for  her  church.  Pleased  with  the 
activity  of  her  spirit,  he  encouraged  her  efforts,  promised  to 
raise  a  subscription  for  her  in  his  own  parish,  and  named  the 
new  church,  St.  Paul's  the  Less.  Moreover,  as  his  own  son 
was  just  ordained,  this  was  precisely  the  spot  where  he  would 
wish  him  to  commence  his  labors.  Edith  offered  him  a  home 
in  her  own  house,  and  volunteered  to  raise  a  sufficient  sum  to 
find  him  clothes  and  books.  Full  of  joy  at  her  pleasant  pros- 
pects, she  immediately  went  around  among  her  neighbors,  who 
subscribed  liberally;  and  Aunt  Priscilla,  always  ready  to  aid  in 
Edith's  good  deeds,  added  herself  one  hundred  dollars. 

The  young  pastor  commenced  his  labors  immediately : 
soon  ascertained  whom  he  might  count  among  his  flock, 
recorded  their  names,  and  most  faithfully  cultivated  his 
field  of  labor.  He  was  a  young  man  of  ardent  piety  and 
untiring  zeal,  and  preached  the  doctrines  of  the  Cross  with 
the  love  of  the  Apostle  John.  Edith's  house  soon  became 
too  strait  for  the  rapidly  increasing  flock.  There  was  no 
other  church  in  the  neighborhood.  Attracted  by  the  fer- 
vent preaching,  and  the  sweet,  solemn  music  of  these 
cottage  lectures,  persons  of  all  classes  came,  and  frequently, 
not  only  the  house,  but  the  piazza,  was  full  of  earnest  lis- 
teners. 

Edith  opened  her  subscription  book  for  her  church.  At 
first  but  little  interest  was  manifested.  Many  thought  that  a 
school-house  would  answer;  but  she  was  not  to  be  deterred  by 
difficulties.  Believing  that  it  was  the  will  of  Providence  that 
this  enterprise  should  succeed,  she  followed  its  leadings,  and 
looked  forward  hopefully  to  final  success.  Aunt  Priscilla 
headed  her  list  with  a  noble  contribution  from  "  a  friend  ;"  and 
as  it  was  not  to  be  of  her  own  denomination,  her  liberality 
was  the  more  remarkable.  Determined  to  carry  her  under- 
taking forward,  Edith  left  home  for  awhile,  leaving  her 
family  in  the  charge  of  her  sisters,  and  even  with  full  leave  of 
absence  of  her  father,  when  he  understood  that  she  was  going 
on  behalf  of  the  little  church. 


344  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

First,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ravenswood,  she  obtained 
liberal  subscriptions,  and  then  proceeding  to  New  York,  she 
interested  a  number  of  zealous  Christians,  and  obtained  large 
contributions  there.  Attended  by  Ralph,  she  obtained  a  plan 
from  one  of  the  best  architects  for  a  church,  to  seat  about  five 
hundred,  a  minute  calculation  of  its  cost,  and  with  sanguine 
hopes,  returned  home.  She  had  joyful  intelligence  for  the 
young  pastor,  who  advised  immediate  steps  for  building. 
Writing  to  Ralph,  he  was  fully  authorized  to  engage  workmen, 
and  to  send  them  down  immediately.  In  the  answer  which  he 
returned,  he  reported  one  thousand  dollars  subscribed  by  his 
own  friends  and  acquaintances ;  and  Edith,  on  examining  her 
list,  found  that  she  had  sufficient  to  pay  for  the  building, 
excepting  one  thousand  dollars.  That,  Mr.  Berkely  proposed 
should  be  raised  by  a  mite  society,  in  which  all  should  be 
interested.  On  the  following  week,  the  workmen  arrived. 
The  cellar  was  soon  dug ;  and  the  corner-stone  was  laid  in  the 
presence  of  Mr.  Berkely,  their  old  pastor,  with  his  son,  their 
young  minister,  Mr.  Percival,  a  number  of  clergymen  inter- 
ested in  the  enterprise,  and  a  large  company  from  the  neigh- 
boring families. 

Edith  had  chosen  a  lovely  spot  for  her  church,  on  the  top 
of  a  hill,  surrounded  by  a  grove  of  fine  old  trees,  which 
afforded  a  pleasant  shade  in  summer.  The  corner-stone  was 
laid  on  a  propitious  day,  and  the  prospects  of  St.  Paul's  the 
Less  was  pronounced  by  all  highly  encouraging.  Edith's 
spirits  rose  as  her  work  prospered,  and  her  dear  old  father 
walked  daily  to  the  building ;  watching  its  progress,  he  seemed 
to  indentify  himself  completely  with  the  undertaking,  and  his 
whole  mind  was  filled  with  this  one  thought. 

One  Saturday  evening,  when  Gerald  and  Ralph  arrived, 
the  latter,  holding  up  a  letter  from  England,  said,  "Adele, 
what  will  you  give  me  for  this?" 

"  Many  thanks,  if  you  will  not  keep  me  in  suspense ;"  and 
taking  it  hastily,  she  left  the  room.  When  she  returned,  her 
whole  face  was  in  a  glow.  "  They  are  coming,  sister,"  said  she, 
addressing  Edith. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES    AND   THE  OLD    EIM   TREE.  345 

"Who  are  coming,  dear?" 

"  Why,  Clara  and  Lionel ;  they  will  be  here  in  the  next 
steamer.  They  are  coming  to  visit  their  aunt,  Mrs.  Somers, 
in  New  York,  but  will  spend  some  time  with  us." 

"  Well  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  them  :  we  must  make  them  as 
happy  as  we  can.  We  must  get  two  rooms  ready  for  them." 

"I  think  not,  Edith;  I  know  that  Clara  would  rather  be 
with  me.  I  can  have  a  small  bedstead  put  up  in  my  room, 
and  I  will  give  her  the  best." 

"We'll  have  the  green  room  ready  for  Mr.  Percy, — that 
is  the  largest  and  most  airy.  When  may  we  look  for  them  ?" 

"  In  about  a  month,  I  suppose.  I  wonder  if  Clara  is  much 
altered  ?" 

Adele's  spirits  were  in  a  high  state  of  excitement  until  the 
day  arrived.  Ralph  and  Gerald  had  been  commissioned  to  be 
on  the  look  out  for  their  arrival,  and  when  the  last  Saturday 
of  the  month  came,  Adele  watched  anxiously  for  their  coming 
up  the  glen.  When  they  appeared,  they  were  attended  by  a 
third,  but  it  was  Mr.  Percival,  whose  visits  now  were  very 
frequent.  Ralph  made  her  little  heart  beat  tumultuously,  by 
announcing  the  arrival  of  the  steamer  on  that  very  day,  with 
the  names  of  Mr.  and  Miss  Percy  among  the  passengers. 

.Adele  could  scarcely  wait  for  Monday.  Accompanying 
Ralph  to  New  York,  she  spent  a  week  at  her  aunt's,  devoting 
all  her  time  to  her  European  friends.  When  Lionel  first  met 
Adele,  he  said,  smiling,  "And  this  is  really  the  wild  shep- 
herdess of  the  Alps  ?" 

Nine  years  had  made  a  great  change  in  her  appearance. 
The  sportive,  merry  child  had  merged  into  the  graceful,  ani- 
mated woman;  her  bright  black  eyes  sparkled  with  intelli- 
gence, and  the  expression  of  perfect  frankness,  mingled  with 
the  arch  humor  that  dwelt  upon  her  countenance,  lent  a 
bewitching  charm  to  her  whole  face. 

"  We  have  come  to  spend  a  year  in  America,"  said  Lionel ; 
"  that  is,  if  we  can  tolerate  the  Yankees  that  long." 

"Indeed,"  replied  Adele,  mischievously;  "and  I  suppose 
that  you  would  make  us  believe  that  your  visit  is  a  great  favor. . 


346  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

I  prophesy  that,  before  you  go  home,  you  will  find  out  same 
thing  of  Brother  Jonathan's  independence;  take  care,  Mr. 
Percy,  how  you  rouse  up  his  old  spirit." 

"  I  shall  take  very  good  care  how  I  rouse  up  yours,  Miss 
Adele,  for  I  am  afraid  that  I  should  always  have  the  worst  of 
the  bargain." 

At  the  close  of  a  week,  Adele  took  her  friends  to  Hazel 
Glen,  and  introducing  them  to  her  sisters,  they  received  a 
hearty  welcome.  They  were  deeply  interested  in  Edith — for 
they  saw  that  she  was  a  superior  character, — fascinated  with 
the  beauty  of  Blanche,  and  charmed  with  the  piquant  graces 
and  bright  intelligence  of  Madge.  Aunt  Priscilla  amused 
them ;  and  Mr.  Clifford,  with  his  simple  childish  piety,  and 
dependence  upon  his  daughter  Edith,  awakened  their  most 
tender  sympathy.  They  heard  the  history  of  the  portraits  of 
Mrs.  Clifford,  Frank,  and  Eveleen,  and  were  convinced  that 
Edith's  was  a  character  almost  made  perfect  by  suffering. 
Clara  had  a  sweet  voice,  and  was  fond  of  pathetic  music.  One 
evening  she  had  been  singing  for  some  time  a  number  of  tender, 
mournful  airs.  "Adele,  I  want  to  sing  you  one  of  Mrs. 
Norton's  airs,"  and  she  sang  the  following  with  deep  pathos : 

"  Thy  name  was  once  the  magic  spell, 

By  which  my  heart  was  bound, 
And  burning  dreams  of  light  and  love 
Were  wakened  by  that  sound. 

"  Long  years,  long  years  have  passed  away, 

And  altered  is  thy  brow, 
And  we,  who  met  so  fondly  once, 
Must  meet  as  strangers  now. 

"  But  still  thy  name,  thy  blessed  name, 

My  lonely  bosom  fills, 
Like  an  echo  that  hath  lost  itself 
Among  the  distant  hills." 

Adele  was  quiet.  She  had  observed  Edith's  emotions,  who, 
affected  to  tears,  had  arisen  suddenly  and  left  the  room.  Clara 
perceived  that  something  was  amiss,  for  she  saw  Edith's  coun- 
tenance as  she  departed.  "  Do  not  sing  that  song  again, 


AUTUMN  LEAVES  AND  THE  OLD  ELM  TREE.      347 

Clara,"  said  Adele,  "  it  has  a  sad  history.  It  was  once  a 
favorite  of  Gerald  Fortescue,  and  now  it  has  such  application 
to  Edith's  story,  that  she  cannot  bear  to  hear  it.  I  know  that 
it  awakens  tender  memories  which  she  is  striving  so  nobly  to 
forget."  And  Adele  proceeded  to  relate  her  sister's  trials  to 
Clara  Percy,  who  listened  with  the  most  tender  sympathy,  and 
from  that  hour,  the  deepest  reverence  marked  her  whole 
deportment  to  Edith  Clifford. 

Lionel  and  Clara  were  much  interested  in  the  progress  of 
the  church,  for  they  were  both  members  of  the  same  at  home ; 
and,  having  abundant  means,  they  each  contributed  hand- 
somely. Anxious  to  be  settled  at  home,  Gerald  urged  the 
speedy  conclusion  to  his  engagement  with  Blanche,  and  the 
following  autumn  was  fixed  upon  as  the  time  for  the  marriage. 

Edith,  with  her  usual  devotion,  insisted  on  furnishing  most 
of  the  wedding  trousseau,  for  her  aunt  kept  her  abundantly 
supplied  with  means.  Clara  looked  on  with  silent  admiration, 
as  she  saw  how  busily  the  noble  woman  was  occupied,  in  pre- 
paring a  handsome  outfit  for  her  sister;  but  she  felt  often 
greatly  annoyed,  when  she  saw  how  little  delicate  consideration 
was  manifest  in  Blanche,  who  now  exhibited  the  natural  weak- 
ness of  her  character.  Mr.  Clifford  could  not  be  made  to 
understand  how  all  these  preparations  could  be  made  for 
Blanche,  insisting  that  Edith  was  the  bride. 

It  was  to  be  a  family  wedding,  to  which  none  were  invited  but 
the  Morris  family,  from  New  York,  and  the  Percys,  who  were 
their  guests.  Their  old  pastor,  Mr.  Berkely,  was  to  perform  the 
ceremony.  All  preparations  being  conckided,  the  night  before 
was  one  of  bitter  trial  to  Edith.  Memory  would  recall  the 
past,  and  sometimes  she  felt  as  if  she  could  scarcely  maintain 
her  composure.  But  little  sleep  visited  her  eyelids,  and  she 
arose  in  the  mo rningun refreshed  and  weary.  Fearirg  that  Mr. 
Clifford  would  make  some  embarrassing  mistake,  it  was  con- 
cluded that  Edith  should  give  the  bride  away,  Madge  and 
Adele  acting  as  bridesmaids,  and  Ralph  and  Lionel  as  their 
partners  Edith  dressed  herself  mechanically.  Mtired  in  a 
pure  white  muslin,  whose  full  skirts  flowed  gracefully  around 


34  S  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

her  dignified  form,  with  no  ornaments  save  a  few  white 
camelias  in  her  rich  dark  hair,  and  her  mother's  diamond  pin, 
she  looked  the  very  picture  of  a  noble,  lovely  woman.  Going 
to  her  sister's  room,  she  stood  for  a  moment  enchanted  with 
the  figure  of  loveliness  that  burst  upon  her.  A  double  skirt 
of  fine  lace,  richly  embroidered,  a  bride's  veil  shading  the 
blushing  face,  the  round  white  arms,  the  pure  neck,  and  the 
hair  adorned  with  her  mother's  beautiful  pearls,  mixed  with 
diamonds.  Seldom  was  seen  a  more  bewitching  creature  than 
the  one  who  met  her  as  the  bride  of  Gerald  Fortescue. 

Madge  and  Adele  were  dressed  alike,  in  fine  lace,  with  rose- 
buds adorning  their  hair,  and  diamond  ornaments.  Edith 
took  Blanche  in  her  arms,  and,  kissing  her,  said,  "  God  bless 
you,  Blanche.  May  you  be  a  happy  wife."  And  descending 
to  the  parlor,  she  awaited  the  entrance  of  the  bridal  company. 

During  the  ceremony,  Edith  stood  near  her  father,  fearing 
some  expressions  that  might  embarrass  the  company.  When 
the  question  was  asked,  "Who  giveth  this  woman  away,"  &c., 
Edith,  with  a  cheek  pale  as  marble,  and  a  hand  that  trembled 
violently,  stepped  forward,  for  one  moment,  and  presented  her 
sister.  Clara  Percy  saw  her  step  back,  gasping  for  one 
moment,  then  raising  her  eyes  heavenward,  and  folding  her 
hands  upon  her  breast,  she  looked  like  one  whose  thoughts 
were  in  another  world,  and  truly  were  they.  For  a  second, 
dreams  of  the  past  rushed  over  her  soul ;  then  came  thoughts 
of  the  blessed  rest  when  trials  all  were  over;  then  earnest 
prayers  for  Gerald  and  for  Blanche ;  and  by  the  time  that  the 
ceremony  was  over  she  had  recovered  her  calmness. 

"How  is  it,  Edith?"  said  Mr.  Clifford.  "They  have  mar- 
ried the  wrong  one.  You  are  the  proper  bride." 

"  Do  not  speak,  dear  father,"  replied  Edith.  "  It  is  all  right. 
There  is  no  mistake.  They  will  hear  you,  and  I  should  be  so 
distressed."  Gerald  received  Edith's  congratulations  with 
evident  embarrassment,  for  he  knew  the  struggle  that  had 
compressed  that  lip  so  tightly  must  have  been  severe,  but  he 
saw  sincerity  in  the  clear,  truthful  eyes,  when  she  blessed  him 
iu  the  name  of  the  Lord. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES  AND  THE  OLD  ELM  TREE.      349 

Ere  leaving  for  their  homes,  Edith  called  Blanche  into  her 
room,  and  gave  all  that  kind,  sisterly  advice  which  she  deemed 
necessary.  "Remember,  Blanche,  that  you  are  a  wife  now. 
It  is  a  holy  calling,  dearest.  Have  no  concealments  from  your 
husband.  Study  his  happiness  and  comfort.  His  interests  are 
yours.  You  must  have  no  separate  life.  Henceforth,  you  are 
one.  You  may  be  very  happy,  if  together  you  live  for  God  ; 
but  if  for  the  world  and  its  pleasures,  you  will  be  ship- 
wrecked." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  sister,  for  all  your  goodness,"  answered 
Blanche.  "  I  will  try  to  follow  your  advice."  After  the 
wedding  dinner,  the  bridal  company,  consisting  of  Gerald  and 
Blanche,  with  the  bridesmaids,  their  partners,  and  Clara 
Percy,  set  out  for  Oak  Hall,  and  Edith  found  herself  compara- 
tively alone,  excepting  that  Lilly,  now  a  lovely  young  girl  of 
seventeen,  had  come  home,  to  remain.  Her  education  had 
been  as  thorough  as  her  sad  deficiency  had  allowed,  and  she 
was  a  remarkably  fine  musician.  Her  likeness  to  her  mother 
was  remarkable.  The  same  flaxen  hair,  the  same  delicate  fea- 
tures and  complexion,  the  same  blue  eyes,  though  sightless,  her 
form,  her  step,  her  voice,  were  all  there.  Indeed,  so  perfect 
was  the  resemblance,  that  Mr.  Clifford  would  sit  holding  her 
hand  and  gazing  in  her  face  for  hours  together,  whispering, 
"My  Mary  has  come  back  again,  only  she  seems  blind  now, 
for  she  does  not  look  on  me  so  lovingly  as  she  used  to  do." 
This  fancy  seemed  to  possess  the  old  man,  and  as  it  increased 
his  happiness,  he  was  allowed  to  indulge  in  the  delusion. 

When  the  fall  months  had  passed  away,  Blanche  accom- 
panied her  husband  to  the  city,  where  the  beauty  and  wealth 
of  the  young  bride  attracted  much  attention.  Under  the 
patronage  of  her  aunt,  she  was  soon  immersed  in  scenes  of 
gayety  and  fashion.  Mrs.  Gerald  Fortescue  was  evidently  the 
belle  of  the  season.  Her  beauty,  her  diamonds,  her  carriage, 
were  the  theme  of  every  mouth.  She  was  completely  intoxi- 
cated by  the  adulation  which  she  received,  and  Gerald  found 
that  the  young  wife  was  more  anxious  about  how  she  should 
appear,  and  what  compliments  were  bestowed  upon  her,  than 


350  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

how  she  should  please  her  husband  or  make  his  home 
happy. 

When  engaged  in  a  new  picture,  he  would  often  say,  "  Will 
you  ride  down  to  my  studio  this  morning,  dear?  I  have  a 
picture  which  I  wish  to  show  you."  Frequently,  some  other 
engagement,  to  the  milliners,  or  jewellers,  or  dress-makers, 
must  be  attended  to  ;  and  if  she  did  go,  her  manner  was  list- 
less, her  mind  preoccupied,  and  her  lack  of  sympathy  used 
sometimes  to  bring  before  him,  in  his  lonely  studio,  a  kindling 
dark  eye,  and  an  encouraging  smile,  that  were  once  the  anima- 
ting stimulus  of  his  young  genius.  But  his  beautiful 
Blanche,  his  fashionable  wife,  had  no  sympathizing  tastes. 
Sometimes  he  would  bring  home  an  interesting  book  to  dinner, 
and  would  say,  "  Now,  dear,  can  we  not  have  a  quiet  evening 
at  home?  I  have  such  an  interesting  volume." 

"  Let  me  see.  I  believe  I  have  two  engagements :  one  at 
Mrs.  Scott's  and  another  at  Mrs  Lisle's.  I  should  like  to 
accommodate  you,  Gerald;  but  I  don't  see  how  I  can  refuse 
these  ladies;"  then  rising,  and  throwing  her  arm  coaxingly 
around  her  husband,  she  would  continue :  "  Just  let  me  go  to- 
night, dear ;  I'll  promise  to  stay  at  home  to-morrow ;"  and 
Gerald  could  not  refuse  the  melting  eyes,  and  with  a  sitrh 
would  say,  "  Go,  dear,  I  will  try  to  do  without  you,  for  I  am 
not  well  enough  to  go  out  to-night." 

In  his  lonely  evenings,  he  could  not  but  remember  the  hours 
spent  in  listening  to  a  rich  melodious  voice,  that  used  to  read 
with  him,  and  the  friend  that  was  always  ready  to  give  up  her 
own  pleasures  to  gratify  him.  He  tried  to  make  excuses  for 
Blanche,  for  he  remembered  her  youth  and  loveliness,  and 
hoped,  when  she  retired  again  to  the  country,  that  it  would  be 
different. 

She  was  often  so  tired  when  Sunday  came  that  she  spent  hei 
mornings  in  bed,  and  was  seldom  ready  to  accompany  hei 
husband  to  church,  who  had  been  very  punctual  ever  since  liin 
marriage.  Early  in  the  spring,  he  urged  a  return  to  Oak  Hall. 
He  saw  that  her  health  was  suffering,  and  he  felt  anxious  t« 
bring  her  once  more  into  contact  with  rural  scene.-  and  orcupa 


AUTUMN  LEAVES  AND  THE  OLD  ELM  TREE.      351 

tions.  But  she  had  been  so  completely  spoiled  by  her  winter 
in  New  York,  that  he  had  but  little  pleasure  in  her  society. 
Indolent,  self-indulgent,  and  devoted  only  to  dress,  he  felt 
sadly  the  want  of  a  companion  in  his  young  wife.  Frequently 
she  had  not  left  her  room  when  he  started  for  the  city,  and 
was  often  still  in  her  dishabille  when  he  returned.  Occa- 
sionally she  would  summon  energy  enough  to  dress  for  a  ride; 
but  all  her  thoughts  seemed  centred  in  herself.  She  was  never 
happy,  unless  surrounded  by  a  gay  company  from  the  city;  for 
them  she  sparkled,  and  smiled,  and  sang,  but  for  her  husband 
she  only  yawned,  and  'he  keenly  felt  the  bitter  need  of  a 
congenial  spirit.  Kind  and  indulgent  as  he  possibly  could  be, 
he  sought  to  draw  her  out  of  herself;  but  he  found  the  task  a 
fruitless  one,  and  endeavored  to  find  comfort  in  his  profession. 
Edith  had  received  many  invitations  to  visit  her  sister. 
Hearing  discouraging  accounts  of  her  state  of  health,  she  set 
out  for  Oak  Hall,  intending  to  spend  a  few  days  ere  she 
returned.  She  was  received  by  Gerald  with  great  cordiality. 
On  asking  for  Blanche,  "  She  is  not  well,"  replied  Gerald ; 
"  she  told  me  to  say  that  she  would  be  down  stairs  directly : 
she  is  dressing."  Edith  felt  somewhat  chilled,  as  she  thought 
that  her  sister  should  have  sent  for  her  to  her  room.  She  did 
not  know  that  she  had  been  crying  bitterly,  because  her 
husband  would  not  consent  to  her  going  to  a  large  party  on 
the  river.  "  You  know,  dear,  that  you  are  not  well  enough, 
and  I  cannot  consent."  This  was  all  that  he  had  said,  but  it 
had  thrown  her  into  an  agony  of  grief.  After  the  lapse  of  an 
hour,  Blanche  made  her  appearance,  pale  and  spiritless,  but 
evidently  glad  to  see  her  sister.  At  the  tea-table,  Edith  per- 
ceived that  there  was  no  cordiality  between  Gerald  and  his 
young  wife.  The  husband  was  kind,  considerate,  tender,  but. 
the  wife  cold,  constrained,  distant.  Edith  could  not  bear  to 
ask  any  questions,  for  she  was  principled  against  interference 
in  domestic  disturbances.  She  followed  Blanche  to  her  room, 
made  many  particular  inquiries  about  her  health,  and  feared 
that  her  sister  was  ruining  the  greatest  of  all  blessings  by  eelf- 
in^ulgence.  In  the  morning,  Gerald,  as  usual,  affectionately 


352  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

bade  his  wife  good-by,  but  she  turned  a  cold  cheek  to  his  lips, 
and  Edith  saw  the  tear  wounded  affection  quivering  in  his  eye 
as  he  bade  her  good-morning. 

Blanche  seemed  to  have  no  employment, — wandering  about 
all  day,  complaining  of  headache,  and  wishing  that  somebody 
would  come  up  from  New  York.  After  dinner  the  servant 
announced  company,  and  Edith  was  surprised  to  see  with  what 
alacrity  Blanche  dressed  herself,  and  flew  down  stairs  to  meet 
her  dear  friends, — some  very  fashionable  ladies  from  the  city, 
who  reproached  her  bitterly  for  not  joining  their  party  the 
evening  before.  Blanche  replied,  sorrowfully,  "  My  husband 
would  not  let  me ;  and  I  was  vexed  enough,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  If  you  mean  to  let  him  interfere  with  you  in  this  manner, 
you  may  as  well  give  up  all  hopes  of  enjoyment.  I  go  where 
I  please,  and  my  husband  does  the  same.  We  never  interfere 
with  each  other,  and  are  a  very  comfortable  pair ;  that's  what 
you  must  do,  my  dear."  Edith  listened  indignantly,  and  won- 
dered not  at  the  estrangement  between  Blanche  and  her  hus- 
band, if  this  was  one  of  her  advisers. 

When  Gerald  returned,  he  received  the  visitors  coldly,  and 
was  evidently  much  annoyed  by  their  presence.  Blanche  was 
still  more  attentive,  and  Edith  was  deeply  pained  at  this  state 
of  affairs.  Blanche  had  been  married  but  one  year,  and  yet 
the  want  of  congeniality  was  so  apparent  that  a  stranger  might 
easily  see  that  there  was  no  happiness  at  Oak  Hall.  On  the 
next  day,  Blanche  was  very  much  indisposed,  and  Gerald 
remained  at  home,  requesting  to  be  left  alone.  Edith  repaired 
to  the  family  sitting-room,  where  she  found  Gerald,  sitting  in  a 
desponding  attitude. 

"  Blanche  is  not  at  all  well  to-day,  Gerald.  I  feel  very 
uneasy  about  her.  She  manifests  symptoms  like  my  mother." 

"Ah,  Edith!  I  have  not  made  her  happy;  she  prefers  any 
society  to  mine.  She  has  bad  advisers,"  answered  Gerald. 

"This  is  a  dangerous  subject,  Gerald,"  replied  Edith. 
*'  You  must  remember  that  Blanche  is  your  wife,  and  you  must 
be  careful  how  you  complain  of  her,  even  to  me." 

"  I  know  that  it  is  so,  Edith.     I  love  her,  sister ;  I  try  to 


AUTUMN  LEAVES  AND  THE  OLD  ELM  TREE.     353 

make  her  happy ;  I  have  studied  her  wishes ;  but  I  do  feel  us 
if  she  ought  to  study  my  comfort  a  little." 

"  Would  it  not  be  well,  Gerald,  for  you  to  exercise  some 
authority  concerning  some  of  her  associates  ?  For  instance, 
the  lady  that  was  here  yesterday." 

"  If  I  should  do  so,  I  should  be  called  a  tyrant  at  once," 
replied  Gerald. 

"  If  you  wish  any  domestic  happiness,  you  must  be  more 
independent.  This  woman  has  no  correct  principles,  and  is  no 
companion  for  a  young  wife." 

"  What  ought  I  to  do  ?"  asked  Gerald. 

"  Guard  your  wife  from  improper  associates,  and  she  will  see 
the  propriety  of  such  a  course.  Blanche  is  weak  and  irreso- 
lute, but  not  unprincipled,"  answered  Edith. 

When  alone  with  Blanche,  Edith,  with  all  the  tenderness  of 
an  affectionate  mother,  expostulated.  "Dear  Blanche,  you 
are  all  wrong,"  said  Edith.  "  If  you  wish  to  be  happy,  you 
must  commence  your  married  life  all  over  again.  You  are 
placing  yourself  in  direct  opposition  to  your  husband,  who  is 
devoted  to  you  ;  and  if  you  do  not  at  once  change  your  whole 
course,  you  will  know  no  domestic  comfort." 

Blanche  threw  herself  upon  her  sister's  bosom,  and  bursting 
into  tears,  said,  "  Sister,  I  am  very  miserable.  I  know  that  I 
have  done  wrong.  I  think  going  to  New  York  spoiled  me. 
They  flattered  me  so  much  that  they  intoxicated  my  young 
head,  and  made  me  neglect  my  husband." 

"Will  you  promise  me  one  thing,  Blanche?"  asked  Edith. 

"  What  is  it,  sister  ?" 

"  Never  to  visit  that  woman  who  came  here  yesterday." 

"  I  will  promise,  sister ;  but  then  Gerald  must  not  take  me 
any  more  to  New  York.  I  know  that  he  will  be  glad  if  I  say 
that  I  would  rather  live  here." 

"Go  tell  him  now,  dear,  at  once;  it  would  relieve  him,  I 
know.  I  can  see  that  he  is  suffering." 

Blanche  ran  off,  under  the  impulse  of  her  present  feel  in-, 
and,  knocking  at  her  husband's  door,  she  said,  "  Gerald,  let 
me  in,  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say." 
23 


354  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  perceiving  that  traces  of  tears  were 
on  her  face,  he  led  her  affectionately  to  a  little  couch  in  the 
room,  and  said,  kindly,  "  What  ails  ray  wife?" 

"  I  have  come,  Gerald,  to  ask  forgiveness,"  said  Blanche,  as 
she  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.  "I  have  been  a  very 
negligent  selfish  wife,  and  am  not  going  to  be  so  any  more.  I 
want  you  to  promise  me  that  we  shall  always  live  at  Oak  Hall, 
and  that  you  will  not  take  me  any  more  to  that  heartless  New 
York,  where  there  are  so  many  bad  wives." 

"  You  have  my  full  forgiveness,  Blanche,"  answered  her 
husband  ;  "  and  I  can  readily  promise  not  to  go  to  New  York, 
for  I  have  always  thought  it  a  bad  place  for  my  little  wife." 

"  NOWT,  dear,  we  shall  never  be  cold  again,  will  we  ?"  whis- 
pered Blanche,  as  she  looked  affectionately  in  his  face. 

There  was  a  wholly  different  aspect  of  affairs  when  they 
met  at  the  tea-table  that  evening,  and  Edith  felt  happy  at  the 
reconciliation  which  she  had  effected. 

Leaving  the  two  to  enjoy  their  tete-a-tete,  she  walked  over  to 
Raveuswood,  and  on  coming  in  view  of  the  familiar  spot,  she 
was  reminded  of  her  own  early  days  by  the  scene  which  pre- 
sented itself.  Mr.  Lindsay  had  rented  the  place,  and  having 
a  large  family,  Edith  perceived  a  number  of  children  running 
about,  some  playing  graces  and  trundling  hoops,  the  boys 
flying  kites,  and  the  little  one  riding  on  a  rocking  horse.  The 
joyous  scene  reminded  her  of  her  early  days,  when  her  own 
unbroken  family  circle  inhabited  the  old  mansion,  and  when 
her  brother  and  sisters  gambolled  about  its  pleasant  walks  and 
under  its  green  trees.  Rambling  on,  she  came  to  the  old  elm 
tree,  the  scene  of  so  many  joys  and  sorrows. 

It  was  an  evening  m  autumn.  The  sun  had  sunk  in  all 
the  gorgeous  glory  of  that  peculiar  season ;  the  landscape 
was  glowing  with  the  splendid  foliage  of  an  American 
autumn ;  the  leaves  had  begun  to  fall,  and  lay  around  her 
feet,  as  silent  monitors  of  the  dreariness  which  would  soon 
clothe  all  nature  in  sadness.  She  seated  herself  under  the 
same  old  tree,  where,  eleven  years  before,  she  had  dreamed 
the  first  rosy  vision  of  youth.  Now,  she  looked  upon  the 


AUTUMN  LEAVES  AND  THE  OLD  ELM  TREE.      355 

Bplendid  clouds,  which  then  spoke  to  her  of  earthly  happi- 
ness, but  now  only  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  where  tears  are 
wiped  from  all  faces,  and  where  sorrow  and  sighing  come 
no  more.  Now,  she  looked  upon  the  decaying  leaves,  and 
thought  of  the  hopes  which,  like  them,  were  prostrate  in 
the  dust.  In  reviewing  the  past,  memory  carried  her  back 
over  the  distant  hills,  and  through  the  shady  valleys  of  life, 
and  whispered  to  her  heart  many  echoes  of  tender,  sorrowful 
music ;  back  to  the  days  of  trusting,  joyous  childhood,  when 
a  soft  blue  eye  beamed  kindly  on  her,  and  a  sweet  loving 
voice  sang  cradle-hymns  around  her  evening  hours.  Now, 
they  came  again  in  tones  of  touching,  soothing  melody, 
as  she  heard, 

"Hush,  my  babe,  lie  still  in  slumber, 

Holy  angels  guard  thy  bed; 
Heavenly  blessings,  without  number, 
Gently  falling  round  thy  head." 

Farther  on,  childhood  passed  away;  buoyant,  joyful  youth 
succeeded.  Then  came  a  bright  dream,  which  comes  but 
once,  the  long  year  of  her  heart's  devotion,  and  the  wreck 
which  had  succeeded.  The  airs  which  Gerald  loved  came 
back  from  those  green  valleys,  and  shady  lanes,  and  mocked 
her  with  their  sweetness.  She  had  made  a  willing  sacrifice, 
and  would  have  felt  compensated  if  Gerald  and  Blanche 
were  only  happy,  but  when  she  realized  how  little  there 
was  in  their  home  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  Gerald's  heart, 
she  was  tempted  to  ask,  why  this  bitter  trial  and  these  sad 
results  ?  but  instantly  the  thought  was  crushed,  and  she 
could  still  say,  "  Even  so,  Father,  for  so  it  seemed  good  in 
thy  sight."  "What  I  know  not  now,  I  shall  know  here- 
after." Then  rose  the  visions  of  her  mother's  death-bed. 
High  and  holy  hymns,  from  a  deep,  solemn  organ,  rolled 
over  from  that  distant  chamber,  and  she  asked  her  heart, 
"Have  I  redeemed  that  solemn  vow?"  and  as  her  spirit 
answered  "Yes,"  she  was  comforted,  when  low  notos,  of 
soft  and  plaintive  music,  seemed  to  be  wafted  to  her  from 
the  world  above.  Then  came  the  visions  of  her  sojourn 


356  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

amid  the  romantic  scenery  of  the  Pyrenees,  when  confi- 
dence seemed  to  exist  between  herself  and  Gerald;  and  she 
forced  back  the  tear  and  quenched  the  sighs,  as  the  stirring 
songs  of  the  mountaineers,  brought  back  the  sweet  remem- 
brance. Another  vision,  of  a  manly  brow,  dark  eye,  and  an 
eloquent  voice,  early  quenched  in  death,  a  pale,  drooping 
lily,  that  bent  beneath  the  stroke  that  severed  her  from  one 
she  loved  so  devotedly,  brought  to  her  heart  music,  wild, 
tender  and  touching  as  the  whisperings  of  the  ^Eolian  harp, 
in  the  solitude  of  that  autumnal  hour. 

The  shadows  of  evening  deepened  around  her,  the  breeze 
sighed  mournfully  as  it  passed  by,  and  she  could  almost 
fancy  that  these  spirits  of  her  loved  ones  might  yet,  per- 
chance, linger  near  her  pilgrim  footsteps.  Higher  and 
holier  became  her  communion  with  heaven.  Looking  for- 
ward to  "the  rest  that  remaineth  for  the  people  of  God," 
the  music  of  that  upper  sphere  of  blessedness  and  love 
came  swelling  over  the  turrets  of  that  place  in  the  skics> 
like  "the  voice  of  many  waters;  and  in  the  harpings  that 
she  imagined  around  the  throne,  she  fancied  the  raptured 
voices  of  her  mother,  of  Frank,  and  of  Eveleen,  mingling 
with  the  heavenly  host. 

Blessing  God  for  the  hope  of  reunion  in  that  better  land, 
she  turned  away,  peacefully,  from  the  old  trysting  place, 
and  looked  forward  trustingly,  yes,  even  joyfully,  to  the 
path  of  usefulness  and  peace,  which  her  Father  had  doubt- 
less appointed  her.  In  the  future  rose  her  little  church,  a 
home  for  guidance  and  peace  and  rest  on  earth,  the  prophet 
of  glory  and  endless  life  to  many,  who  should  be  gathered 
there  within  the  Saviour's  fold. 

She  thought  of  her  aged  father  and  her  blind  sister,  to 
whom  she  was  so  necessary;  of  dear  Emily  and  orphan 
Frank,  who  needed  so  much  a  mother's  care ;  of  her  poor 
people  and  her  Sunday-scholars ;  and  she  felt  that,  with  such 
abundant  objects  for  her  ministry  of  love,  she  could  never 
be  unhappy,  for  she  could  never  be  unemployed, — the  secret 
cause  of  so  much  of  the  misery  of  females. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES  AND  THE  OLD  ELM  TREE.      357 

With  a  spirit  strengthened  by  this  hour  of  communion, 
she  returned  to  Gerald  and  Blanche,  pleased  to  see  the  effects 
of  her  sisterly  love ;  for  Blanche  seemed  really  in  earnest  in 
her  efforts  to  atone  for  the  past.  Gerald  yielded  again  to  her 
fascinations,  and  fancied  himself  happy. 

Edith  returned  home,  warmly  welcomed  by  every  member 
of  her  beloved  family.  Her  aged  father  met  her  with  out- 
stretched arms,  little  Frank  clung  to  "  Aunt  Edith,"  with 
sweet  expressions  of  artless  love,  Emily  jumped  about  with 
sportive  joy,  and  Aunt  Priscilla,  feeble  as  she  appeared, 
insisted  on  making  Edith's  favorite  cake,  for  tea,  and  a  large 
bowl  of  syllabub,  very  much  in  fashion  at  Hazel  Glen. 

"Indeed,  dear  aunty,  I  fear  that  I  am  in  a  fair  way  of 
being  spoiled.  I  do  not  think  that  a  queen  could  excite  more 
commotion." 

"  Well,  Edith,  it  is  just  as  it  should  be,"  answered  Aunt 
Priscilla,  "  for  you  are  the  guardian  angel  here,  and  that  is 
better  than  a  queen,  any  day." 

On  the  next  visit  paid  by  Ralph,  he  was  accompanied,  as 
usual,  by  Mr.  Percival,  who  made  it  very  manifest  that  Edith 
was  the  object  of  attraction  to  Hazel  Glen.  Ere  he  departed, 
he  made  an  offer  of  his  heart  and  hand  to  Edith,  which  she 
kindly,  delicately,  but  firmly  declined.  She  esteemed  and 
admired  him,  was  grateful  to  him  as  her  kind  preserver,  but 
her  deep  affections  once  disappointed,  awoke  no  more  for  one, 
but  diffused  themselves  over  the  charmed  circle  of  her  home 
and  its  neighborhood. 

She  looked  forward  to  single  life  with  a  serene  and  hope- 
ful spirit,  knowing  that  there  were  hundreds  whom  she 
might  benefit,  and  aware  that  she  could  gather  around  her 
always  a  circle  whom  she  might  bless.  She  was  far  above 
the  vulgar  fear  of  being  called  an  "  old  maid,"  and  smiled  nt 
the  folly  of  those  poor  weak  creatures,  who,  rather  than 
incur  that  odium,  take  false  vows,  marry  even  worthless  men 
whom  they  do  not  love,  and  sacrifice  the  happiness  and  true 
respectability  of  a  lifetime,  for  fear  of  the  mere  bugbear  of  a 
silly  name. 


358  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

It  pained  Edith  to  see  Mr.  Percival's  depression,  for  she 
knew  the  bitterness  of  blighted  hopes ;  but  she  saw  her  own 
mission  clearly,  and  hoped  that  time  and  a  spirit  of  submis- 
sion would  temper  the  keenness  of  the  disappointment. 

"  I  go,  Miss  Clifford,"  said  he,  "  in  about  two  months,  to  my 
field  of  labor ;  if  it  is  the  will  of  Providence  that  I  go  alone, 
I  will  endeavor  to  submit,  but  I  had  hoped  for  a  different 
result." 

"  I  am  a  home  missionary,  Mr.  Percival,"  replied  Edith  ; 
"my  path  is  as  plain  as  if  a  voice  from  heaven  had  placed  me 
here,  where  I  expect  to  spend  my  life,  endeavoring  to  bless 
this  humble  flock,  and  here  I  expect  to  die." 

"May  God  bless  you,  Edith  Clifford,  will  always  be  my 
earnest  prayer ;  and  may  I  not  hope  for  an  interest  in  your 
daily  approach  to  a  throne  of  grace?" 

"Of  that  you  are  always  sure,  Mr.  Percival,  and  I  doubt 
not  that  in  your  distant  home  you  will  be  prosperous  and 
happy." 

"  Farewell,  dear  Miss  Clifford,"  and  pressing  her  hand  to 
his  lips,  and  turning  slowly  and  sadly  away,  the  lonely  mis- 
sionary took  his  departure,  and  Edith  saw  him  no  more. 

She  was  pained  by  the  increasing  debility  of  Aunt  Priscilla. 
It  was  evident  that  she  was  rapidly  passing  away,  and  Edith, 
with  grateful  love,  devoted  herself  to  soothing  the  last  days  of 
her  aged  relative.  At  last,  confined  entirely  to  her  room,  she 
waited,  in  humble  faith,  on  the  blessed  Redeemer  for  the  last 
messenger,  and  esteemed  it  a  great  privilege  that  Edith  was 
near,  to  minister  to  her  in  her  last  hours.  Sustained  by 
loving  faith  in  the  promises  of  the  Gospel,  she  passed  from 
earth,  blessing  her  dear  niece  for  all  her  tender  care.  Look- 
ing upon  her  as  one  of  the  most  faithful  of  her  parents' 
friends,  Edith  laid  her  mortal  remains  by  the  side  of  her  own 
cherished  dead,  in  the  church-yard  of  old  St.  John's,  strictly 
adhering  to  all  her  aunt's  eccentric  directions  concerning  the 
funeral. 

She  placed  her  last  will  in  the  hands  of  Edith,  requesting 
that  it  should  be  opened  on  the  morning  after  the  funeral. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES  AND  THE  OLD  ELM  TREE.      359 

To  Edith's  great  surprise,  it  was  found  that  her  whole  fortune, 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  legacies  to  all  of  Mr.  Clifford's 
children,  was  left  entirely  to  her  favorite  niece.  It  was  much 
larger  than  they  had  supposed,  so  that  Edith  found  herself 
now  in  possession  of  a  handsome  income,  by  means  of  which 
she  could  exercise  her  benevolent  wishes. 

The  Percys  had  been  travelling  for  some  months.  Pre- 
vious to  their  return  to  Europe  they  visited  Hazel  Glen,  for 
a  few  weeks,  which  seemed  to  fly  too  fast  for  Adele.  As 
the  time  approached  for  their  departure,  all  her  gay  spirits 
vanished,  and  Lionel  evidently  partook  of  her  sadness.  He 
had  always  been  deeply  interested  in  the  sportive  child,  and 
when  he  came  to  America  and  found  her  transformed  into  a 
lovely  woman,  he  soon  learned  to  love  her,  with  a  pure  and 
manly  affection ;  and  Adele  returned  the  sentiment  with  all 
the  fervor  of  her  warm  little  heart. 

On  the  evening  before  leaving  Hazel  Glen,  Lionel  whisp- 
ered to  Edith,  as  they  arose  from  the  tea-table,  "  Will  you 
favor  me  with  an  interview  in  the  parlor?"  Granting  his  re- 
quest, she  repaired  thither.  Lionel  was  sealed  beside  Adele, 
on  the  sofa ;  she  had  evidently  been  weeping. 

"  I  have  summoned  you  here,  Miss  Clifford,  to  ask  your 
blessing,"  said  Lionel,  taking  Adele  by  the  hand,  and  lending 
her  to  her  sister.  "Your  sister  has  granted  me  this  little 
hand  ;  do  you  approve  of  her  choice?" 

"Most  warmly,  Mr.  Percy;  you  have  my  hearty  approval, 
and  a  sister's  most  earnest  prayers  for  your  happiness," 
answered  Edith  ;  "  but  is  not  this  termination  rather  hurried?" 

"  Perhaps  it  may  be  considered  so,"  replied  Lionel,  "  for 
your  mischievous  little  sister  has  been  acting  '  will  o'  the  wisp' 
ever  since  I  have  been  in  America ;  laughing  at  all  my 
protestations  of  affection  ;  pretending  sometimes  to  be  deeply 
offended  at  my  presumption,  at  others  wholly  indifferent. 
Indeed,  Edith,  I  almost  despaired  of  ever  finding  her  in  a 
serious  mood;  but  when  it  came  near  the  time  of  saying  fare- 
well, that  set  all  right,  and  I  think  that  the  teasing  ilavs 


360  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

All  Adele's  merriment  had  disappeared,  and  it  took  all  of 
Lionel's  powers  of  persuasion  to  convince  her  that  she  could 
live  even  a  few  months  apart  from  her  dear  friends.  With 
the  promise  of  a  speedy  return,  he  bade  the  family  farewell, 
and  little  laughing  Adele  was  transformed  into  the  pensive 
girl,  with  her  warm  heart  travelling  to  England  in  the 
steamer  that  conveyed  Lionel  Percy  from  the  shores  of 
America. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    SISTER'S    RECOMPENSE. 

HE  church  upon  Mount  Pisgah  rose  rapidly 
towards  heaven,  stone  upon  stone,  as  a  lasting 
monument  of  Edith's  self-denying  faith  and  love ; 
and  as  the  humble  edifice  mounted  upon  the  hill- 
top, adding  a  beautiful  feature  to  the  rural  land- 
scape, so  rose  her  hopes,  her  joys.  Called  out  of 
herself  by  her  holy  occupations,  a  heart  so  full  of 
heavenly  aspirations  could  not  be  sad,  for  the 
sunshine  of  God's  unfailing  love  dwelt  in  the  bosom  of  Edith 
Clifford,  and  spread  its  radiance  around  her  daily  path.  She 
had  many  occasions  of  gratitude,  for  although  her  father  yet 
continued  lame,  his  mind  daily  recovered  strength ;  he  seemed 
to  be  joining  the  links  of  memory,  and  was  very  useful  to  his 
daughter  in  her  works  of  benevolence,  especially  in  the  build- 
ing of  the  church.  In  this,  he  exhibited  the  deepest  interest, 
daily  reporting  progress,  and  was  even  able  to  go  to  New 
York,  for  the  purpose  of  collecting  money,  and  inquiring  about 
the  cost  of  an  organ,  furniture,  &c. 

Edith  was  very  happy  in  her  family  connections.  Miss 
Arnold  still  superintended  the  education  of  Emily  and  Frank, 
and  was  of  great  advantage  to  Lilly  in  her  studies  of  music. 
Madge  was  a  very  active  little  creature,  and  by  systematizing 
her  time,  found  abundant  leisure,  not  only  for  her  home 
duties,  but  for  her  literary  pursuits.  Adele  was  very  busy  iu 

361 


362  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

preparing  for  her  new  life ;  and  all  the  better  part  of  Blanche's 
character  was  now  developed  in  the  responsibilities  and  affec- 
tion of  a  youthful  mother. 

A  bright  advent  seemed  to  have  dawned  upon  Oak  Hall, 
and  when  Edith  paid  her  first  visit,  a  dearer  bond  of  union 
appeared  to  unite  the  young  parents  of  little  Mary.  Blanche 
was  never  tired  of  praising  its  beauty,  and  in  the  cares 
of  domestic  life,  seemed  to  be  forgetting  the  fascinations 
of  the  gay  world.  Gerald  was  happy  in  the  society  of 
his  wife  and  child,  and  altough  he  still  felt  the  want  of  a 
stronger  spirit,  he  looked  forward  to  years  of  happiness, 
with  his  youthful  companion,  and  hoped  that  added  years 
would  bring  corresponding  improvement.  Edith  was  now 
much  occupied  in  purchasing  the  furniture  and  organ  for  her 
church,  as  it  was  expected  that  it  would  be  ready  for  con- 
secration in  the  fall,  about  one  year  from  the  time  when  it 
was  first  commenced.  Out  of  her  own  abundant  means  she 
supplied  these  necessaries,  and  cleared  it  entirely  of  debt. 

Lionel  had  written  that  he  might  be  expected  in  October, 
and  Ralph  was  urging  the  conclusion  of  his  matrimonial 
engagement.  It  was  therefore  proposed,  that  the  first  service 
in  their  little  church  should  be  the  wedding  of  the  two 
sisters.  With  her  usual  unselfishness,  Edith  was  ready,  with 
hand  and  purse,  to  aid  in  the  preparations,  although  it  cost 
her  some  tears  to  part  with  two  dear  sisters,  the  one  for  a 
distant  land,  and  the  other  for  New  York.  Time  sped  rap- 
idly on.  The  first  of  October  dawned  upon  them.  The  little 
church  was  completed  ;  its  spire  glittered  in  the  sunbeams 
of  a  bright  autumnal  day,  when,  from  its  little  belfry,  the 
first  Sabbath  peal  awoke  the  inhabitants  of  Hazel  Glen,  an- 
nouncing that  a  church  of  Christ,  with  all  its  purifying  and 
holy  influence,  was  among  them.  Up  the  hill-sides,  down 
the  shady  glen,  and  over  green  fields,  its  silvery  chimes 
entered  hall  and  cottage,  ringing  of  rest,  and  blessed  m-^, 
and  heaven ;  and  many  a  stricken  pilgrim  blessed  Edith,  on 
that  holy  day,  for  having  erected  such  a  refuge  for  the  weary 
among  them. 


THE  SISTER'S  RECOMPENSE.  363 

"  Do  you  hear  the  church-bell,  mother?"  said  one  of  Edith's 
scholars.  "Must  not  Miss  Edith  be  happy  to-day?  Before 
she  came,  we  had  no  Sunday,  no  church,  no  pretty  books ; 
nothing  but  wickedness." 

"Yes,  my  child,  she  must  feel  very  glad,  for  she  has  labored 
so  hard  in  getting  up  this  church." 

"Is  there  to  be  church  to-day,  mother?" 

"  I  think  not ;  the  bells  are  ringing  for  joy,  to  tell  us  it  is 
done,  but  as  it  is  not  yet  finished,  we  shall  worship  at  Miss 
Edith's  house." 

And  Edith  sat  in  her  room,  listening  with  a  grateful  spirit 
to  the  joyous  peals,  and  as  from  her  window  she  could  see  the 
pretty  church,  with  its  spire  pointing  towards  heaven,  on  the 
top  of  Mount  Pisgah,  she  recalled  the  hour  when  she  first 
thought  of  the  enterprise;  traced  all  the  steps  of  a  good 
Providence,  which  had  constantly  led  her  on,  and  blessed  God 
for  the  whole  result ;  while  she  earnestly  prayed  that  souls 
might  here  be  born  for  glory.  As  she  listened  she  fancied  the 
language  of  the  bells  chiming, — 

Come  to  Jesus,  come  to  Jesus, 

Sweetly  sounds  the  Sabbath-chimes; 
From  distracting  cares  they  free  us, 

Weekly  marking  holy  time: 

Come  to  Jesus, 
Peaceful  rings  the  blessed  rhyme. 

In  two  more  weeks,  the  church  was  ready  for  consecration, 
and  a  large  congregation  assembled  to  witness  the  solemn 
ceremony.  The  church  was  a  neat  edifice,  with  accommoda- 
tions for  a  good  Sunday-school ;  it  was  suitably  furnished,  and 
supplied  with  a  good  organ,  with  blind  Lilly  Clifford  for  the 
organist.  Her  performance  was  delightful,  and  as  the  sweet 
and  elevating  service  of  Edith's  own  beloved  church  was  the 
first  time  conducted  in  a  house  devoted  to  God's  service,  tears 
of  joy  and  gratitude  bathed  her  face,  as  she  sat  concealed  from 
the  congregation,  behind  the  curtains  of  the  choir. 

All  the  preparations  for  the  .-ipproaching  weddings  were 
made,  and  the  steamer  was  expected  on  the  following  Monday. 


364  EDITH'S  MIN.STRT. 

The  day  passed,  however,  but  no  arrival.  Adele  was  very 
restless  and  anxious  when  Tuesday  passed,  and  still  no  Lionel. 
She  could  not  conceal  her  anxiety,  as,  hour  after  hour,  she 
watched  from  the  piazza  the  road  down  the  glen.  Late  on 
Wednesday  evening,  she  was  still  at  her  post.  A  carriage 
approached  in  the  distance,  and  a  waving  hand  from  the 
window  told  her  beating  heart  whom  it  contained.  In  a  very 
few  minutes,  Ralph  and  Lionel  sprang  from  the  carriage ;  and 
clasped  hands  and  tearful  eyes  expressed  the  joyful  meeting  of 
these  parted  friends. 

Notice  being  sent  to  Mr.  Berkely,  to  Gerald  and  Blanche, 
the  following  Saturday  was  appointed  as  the  wedding-day. 
It  was  ushered  in  by  the  merry  peals  of  the  church-bells ;  and 
the  grateful  cottagers,  determined  to  do  honor  to  this  occasion, 
had  planned  a  surprise  for  the  youthful  brides. 

As  the  wedding  procession  left  the  house,  a  little  boy,  in 
watching,  ran  to  give  notice  to  the  rest,  and  when  they  mounted 
the  hill,  on  their  approach  to  the  church-door,  a  large 
number  of  the  Sunday-school  scholars,  dressed  in  their  best 
attire,  ranged  in  lines,  though  which  the  company  had  to  pass, 
strewed  bright  fall  flowers  in  their  paths  from  baskets  which 
they  held  in  their  hands.  Edith  and  her  father  preceded  the 
bridal  company  ;  following  the  bridesmaids  and  their  partners 
came  Ralph  and  Madge  first ;  then  Lionel  a*id  Adcle ;  and 
there,  in  the  church  so  hallowed  by  their  sister's  piety,  they 
took  the  solemn  vow  which  bound  them  to  each  other  for  ,ii'e. 

As  brides  are  always  interesting,  the  large  congregation 
looked  upon  the  pair  who  stood  there  in  pure  bridal  array, 
completely  absorbed  in  the  scene;  for  it  was  the  first  public 
wedding  that  had  ever  been  celebrated  at  Hazel  Glen.  On 
their  return  to  the  house,  they  received  the  congratulations  of 
their  friends,  and  in  the  afternoon  met  their  Sunday-school 
children,  and  bestowed  upon  them  parting  gifts. 

Little  Mary  Dennis,  a  warm-hearted  Irish  girl,  could  not 
suificiently  admire  the  sweet  brides,  and  running  home  to  her 
mother,  she  exclaimed,  "  Sure,  now,  mother,  I  niver  seed  sich  a 
beautiful  bride  as  Miss  Adele ;  she  was  dressed  so  splendid,  in 


THE  SISTER'S  RECOMPENSE.  365 

sich  an  ilegant  dress,  and  had  sich  lovely  flowfrs  in  her  black 
hair." 

"  I  don't  think  she's  any  purtier  than  Miss  Madge,"  answered 
little  Biddy  O'  Connor. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  sich  a  pair  of  eyes  in  anybody's  head?" 

"  And  sich  a  big  nose,"  said  Mary,  laughing. 

"  Bad  manners  to  ye,  Mary  Dennis,  you  needn't  be  afther 
making  fun  of  her  nose,"  said  Biddy;  "it's  a  great  deal 
purtier  than  your  mean  little  noses." 

"  Just  see  what  Miss  Adele  gave  me,"  said  Mary,  holding 
up  a  bag  of  sugar-plums,  and  a  large  piece  of  wedding-cake; 
"  she's  a  jewel  of  a  lady,  ivery  inch  of  her." 

"And  havn't  I  got  one,  too?"  said  Biddy;  "Miss  Madge 
gave  it  to  me  wid  her  own  little  hand  :  it's  purtier  than  Mary's, 
I'm  sure,  and  Miss  Madge  is  a  nicer  lady." 

"Well,  children,"  said  Mrs.  Dennis,  "I  do  not  think  that 
the  ladies  would  be  much  pleased  to  hear  you  quarrelling 
about  your  wedding  favors."  Whereupon  the  children  hung 
their  heads,  and  finally  concluded  by  saying  that  they  should 
miss  their  kind  teachers,  and  wondered  who  would  come  next. 

On  the  following  Sunday,  divine  service  was  first  celebrated 
in  the  new  church,  and  a  large  and  attentive  congregation 
listened  earnestly  to  the  sermon  of  their  young  pastor.  It  was 
a  day,  however,  of  mingled  joy  and  sorrow  to  Edith  :  joy,  to 
meet  in  their  own  house  of  God,  and  sorrow,  to  feel  that  two  of 
the  beloved  worshippers  would  soon  be  so  far  away.  Prayers 
were  offered  for  those  about  to  go  to  sea,  and  Edith  joined 
heartily  in  the  service,  when  she  remembered  that  her  sister 
and  her  husband  were  the  subjects  of  these  petitions. 

Monday  was  spent  in  packing  all  that  remained  of  her 
sister's  possessions ;  and  Edith  could  not  restrain  some  falling 
tears,  when  she  felt  that  the  wide  ocean  would  soon  separate 
her  from  one  dear  sister,  and  that  the  other  was  about  to 
gather  around  her  other  objects  of  affection,  in  a  distant  city. 
With  all  a  mother's  tender  interest,  she  gave  her  parting  coun- 
sels to  her  sisters,  who  hung  upon  her  with  more  fervent 
expression  of  affection,  as  they  felt  the  pangs  of  separation. 


366  EDITH'8    MINISTRY. 

"You  will  write  often,  dear  Madge,"  said  Edith;  "I  shall 
look  anxiously  for  news." 

"  You  need  not  fear,  dear  sister,"  replied  Madge,  "  for  you 
have  been  sister,  mother,  all  to  me.  I  may  have  an  affec- 
tionate, tender  husband  in  Ralph  Cameron,  but  he  can  never 
be  a  more  faithful,  untiring  friend,  than  my  sister  Edith." 

"I  can  commit  you  to  his  care  with  perfect  trust,"  replied 
Edith,  "  for  I  have  never  known  a  more  noble  Christian  char- 
acter. Look  up  to  him,  dear  Madge,  as  husband,  counsellor, 
friend." 

"  I  am  ready  to  do  so,  dear  Edith.  All  the  folly  of  my 
early  youth  has  passed  away,  and  I  am  glad  to  be  what  God 
has  willed,  second  to  my  husband.  Indeed,  dear  Edith,  I 
fear  that  I  am  tempted  to  idolize  Ralph,  for  he  appears  so 
faultless  in  my  eyes." 

"  And,  dear  Adele,"  said  Edith  to  her  weeping  sister,  "  you 
must  not  forget  the  circle  at  Hazel  Glen.  You  will  have  a 
great  deal  to  make  you  forget  us, — a  devoted  husband,  wealth, 
and  all  that  life  can  give." 

"  Do  not  dream  of  such  a  possibility,  dear  sister,"  replied 
Adele ;  "  all  that  I  have  and  all  that  I  am  I  owe  to  you,  my 
sister.  I  can  never  forget  the  dear  sister,  mother  of  my  early 
years." 

"  In  your  earthly  happiness  and  prosperity,  do  not  forget 
God,  dear  Adele :  he  is  the  gracious  Giver ;  let  his  goodness 
lead  you  to  love  him." 

"You  must  not  think,  dear  Edith,  because  I  am  naturally 
so  sportive  and  gay,  that  I  have  no  serious  thoughts.  I  do 
most  earnestly  desire  to  be  a  Christian,  but  I  am  so  afraid  of 
false  professions,  that  I  have  never  taken  any  public  step ;  but 
I  feel,  dear  sister,  that  to  be  a  good  and  faithful  wife,  I  must 
be  made  a  real  humble  Christian." 

With  an  arm  around  each  beloved  one,  Edith  commended 
them  earnestly  to  the  keeping  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  confi- 
dently trusting  that  he  would  bring  them  both  into  his  hea- 
venly fold.  Before  they  left  her  room,  Edith,  going  to  her 
secretary,  took  from  thence  two  small  cases,  each  containing  a 


THE   SIS!  ER'S    RECOMPENSE.  SC7 

perfect  likeness  of  herself,  and  said,  "I  thought,  dear 
sisters,  that  you  would  rather  have  this  than  any  other  gift." 

"Thank  you,  dear  Edith,"  replied  both  ;  and  Madge  added, 
"You  could  not  have  chosen  anything  more  grateful  to  our 
feelings." 

The  next  morning  was  the  period  fixed  for  departure.  But 
little  breakfast  was  taken  by  any  of  the  family.  The  carriage 
was  at  the  door  which  was  to  take  Madge  to  visit  her  hus- 
band's family,  and  Adele  to  the  steamer  for  Europe.  Mr.  Clif- 
ford gave  them  a  father's  blessing.  Edith  folded  each  beloved 
sister  silently  in  her  arms.  Old  nurse  and  Uncle  Peter  were 
waiting  on  the  piazza  to  say  farewell.  With  a  few  more  hur- 
ried words  of  parting,  the  young  brides  turned  their  backs  upon 
the  home  of  their  childhood,  and  with  woman's  trusting  faith 
and  holy  love,  embarked  their  all  of  earthly  happiness  in  one 
human  heart. 

A  great  void  was  felt  in  the  circle  at  Hazel  Glen,  but  Edith, 
busy  in  her  daily  occupations,  was  peaceful  and  serene. 
Lilly's  sweet  society  was  a  great  comfort.  Intelligent  and 
pious,  she  made  herself  very  useful  to  her  sister;  and  even  with 
her  sightless  eyes,  gave  much  oral  instruction  to  the  Sunday 
scholars  committed  to  her  charge.  Emily,  at  fifteen,  was  a 
sprightly,  animated  being,  and  little  Frank,  a  boy  of  eight, 
gambolled  around  her,  reminding  her  of  the  joyous  childhood 
of  his  father.  In  her  visits  to  Oak  Hall  she  perceived  that 
Blanche  was  endeavoring  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  a  wife,  but  iu 
reality  she  had  no  particular  sympathy  with  her  husband  in 
his  tastes  and  pursuits. 

On  one  occasion  Edith  had  been  spending  a  day  with 
Blanche.  They  had  been  talking  much  of  Josephine,  and 
wondering  what  had  become  of  her,  never  having  heard  from 
her  but  once  since  her  departure.  That  letter  Gerald  had 
received  recently.  Its  tone  was  changed.  It  seemed  to  come 
from  a  disappointed  spirit,  and  for  once  in  her  life,  Josephine 
longed  for  home.  She  complained  also  of  not  being  well,  and 
her  brother  was  sadly  disquieted  concerning  his  only  sister. 
His  Aunt  Mary  had  long  been  dead,  and  Josephine  was  the 


368  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

only  near  relative  he  had  on  eartb.  He  had  no  clue  by  which 
to  find  her,  for  she  had  carefully  concealed  her  place  of  resi- 
dence ;  but  still  he  hoped  that  she  might  seek  them  soon. 

Walking  on  the  piazza  with  Blanche,  Edith  perceived  a 
carriage  slowly  advancing,  with  a  large  quantity  of  baggage. 
"Look,  Blanche,"  said  Edith,  "there  comes  a  stranger.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  it  were  Josephine."  In  a  few 
minutes  it  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  a  pale,  faded  woman,  in 
middle  life,  stepped  from  the  carriage,  but  so  changed  that 
Edith  would  scarcely  have  recognized  her  elsewhere.  The 
proud,  elastic  step  was  gone,  the  eye  dimmed,  the  expression  of 
the  whole  face  subdued  and  sad,  and  but  few  traces  remained 
of  the  once  haughty,  self-reliant  Josephine  Fortescue. 

Tears  were  in  her  eyes,  as  Edith  welcomed  her  home,  and 
her  first  question  was,  "  Where  is  my  brother?" 

"He  is  in  New  York,"  answered  Edith;  "but  let  me  take 
you  to  his  wife." 

"To  his  wife!"  exclaimed  Josephine,  startled  and  aston- 
ished ;  "and  who  is  that,  Edith?" 

"  It  is  my  sister  Blanche,"  she  answered. 

"  What  a  world  of  change  is  this  !"  replied  Josephine. 

When  she  met  Blanche,  it  was  with  rather  a  cold,  con- 
strained manner,  for  she  could  not  understand  how  her  bro- 
ther could  have  passed  by  such  a  noble  woman  as  Edith  Clif- 
ford, to  unite  his  fate  to  one  so  much  her  inferior  as  her  sister 
Blanche.  When  Gerald  returned  to  his  home,  it  was  with  a 
hearty  welcome  that  he  received  his  sister,  for  the  two  were 
warmly  attached. 

"I  hope,  dear  sister,  that  it  is  to  wander  no  more,"  said 
Gerald. 

"  I  am  like  a  tired  pilgrim,  Gerald.  My  visions  of  wo- 
man's independence  have  never  been  realized,  and  I  cannot 
tell  you  with  what  delight  I  have  reached  this  haven  of  rest." 

Josephine's  whole  deportment  was  so  greatly  changed,  that 
Edith  could  not  but  hope  that  the  citadel  of  her  unbelief  was 
tottering,  and  prayed  earnestly  that  God  would  guide  her  foot- 
steps yet  into  the  only  paths  of  peace.  When  Sunday  came, 


THE  SISTER'S  RECOMPENSE.  369 

she  announced  her  intention  of  going  with  the  family  to  the 
house  of  God;  and  her  serious  deportment  while  there  inspired 
Edith  with  fresh  hope  and  cheered  her  brother's  heart. 
Wisely  they  forbore  remarks,  hut  committed  her  case  to  the 
Good  Shepherd,  who  could  guide  her  safely  home.  After 
Edith's  return,  Josephine  spent  much  of  her  time  either  aloue 
or  visiting  among  the  cottages  of  the  poor.  Everywhere  she 
saw  the  marks  of  Edith's  footsteps, — in  the  parish  school  which 
she  had  instituted,  in  the  lowly  dwellings  which  she  had 
blessed,  in  the  young  who  loved,  and  in  the  aged  who  revered 
her  name. 

"Who  gave  you  these  nice  books?"  said  she  to  a  curly- 
headed  child  who  handed  her  a  chair. 

"Miss  Edith,  ma'am,"  replied  the  child. 

"  You  have  a  fine  large  Bible,"  said  she  to  an  aged  woman 
in  another  cottage. 

"  Miss  Edith  bought  it  for  me,  and  a  great  comfort  it  is  to 
my  old  heart." 

"  What  a  comfortable  chair  you  have,  Ellen,"  said  she  to  a 
poor  girl  who  had  been  a  cripple  all  her  life. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  ma'am.  I  never  could  sit  with  any  comfort 
until  Miss  Edith  sent  me  this  nice  chair.  O,  ma'am,  you  do 
not  know  what  a  blessing  she  was  when  she  lived  among  us." 

"  We  are  so  glad  to  see  you  in  our  parish  school,  Miss  For- 
tescue,"  said  the  teacher,  when  she  paid  her  first  visit ;  "  we 
have  missed  Miss  Edith  so  much,  for  the  lady  at  the  Hall  very 
seldom  comes  among  us." 

These  visits  were  preaching  loud  lessons  to  Josephine,  for 
nowhere  in  her  old  visions  of  philanthropy  had  she  seen  such 
fruits  of  humble,  holy  benevolence,  as  in  the  walks  of  this 
useful  Christian.  She  had  long  been  weary  of  her  cold  mor- 
ality, and  now  was  ready  to  believe  that  must  be  an  excellent 
system  which  could  produce  such  results.  She  set  herself  dili- 
gently and  privately  to  work  to  examine  the  claims  of  Christi- 
anity. The  foundations  of  her  unbelief  were  shaken  to  their 
very  base,  but  her  old  obstinate  pride  was  hard  to  overcome. 
Long  and  bitter  were  her  struggles,  but  once  convinced,  she 
24 


370  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

yielded  ;  and  when  presenting  herself  at  Mr.  Berkely's  study 
he  said,  "I  need  not  say  that  you  are  welcome,  Miss  Fortescue 
I  have  long  observed  you,  ray  friend.  I  understand  the  strug- 
gles of  your  mind,  and  rejoice  to  see  you  here." 

"  I  could  stay  away  no  longer,  my  dear  sir.  I  come  as  an 
humble  inquirer  after  truth." 

"  Are  you  ready  to  cast  away  all  doubts?" 

"  I  have  parted  with  them  all.  I  only  wish  to  know  my 
duty.  I  am  ashamed  of  my  former  folly,  and  come  to  learn 
what  the  Lord  would  have  me  to  do." 

With  kind  Christian  fidelity  he  pointed  out  the  path  of  life, 
and  committing  her  case  in  prayer  to  God,  he  felt  that  he  was 
called  to  "rejoice  with  the  angels  over  one  sinner  that 
repenteth."  With  all  the  energy  of  her  strong  nature,  she 
devoted  herself  to  her  new  pursuits ;  "  old  things  had  passed 
away  and  all  things  had  become  new." 

Determined  henceforth  to  live  for  God,  she  threw  herself  at 
once  into  all  the  means  of  usefulness  which  Edith  had  estab- 
lished ;  and  the  neighborhood  rejoiced  in  the  ministry  of  love 
which  she  exercised  around  her  daily  walks.  Something  of 
her  old  bluntuess  yet  remained,  and  occasionally  it  would  show 
itself  in  her  impatience  of  Blanche's  frequent  relapses  into  self- 
indulgence  and  indolence. 

"  She  will  never  raise  my  brother,"  said  Josephine.  "  If  he 
had  only  chosen  Edith,  what  a  different  man  he  would  have 
been  !  But  Blanche  is  nothing  but  a  pretty  baby,  and  he  must 
humor  all  her  foolish  whims." 

Many  were  the  hours  of  communion  spent  together  by  those 
two  active  spirits,  and  Josephine  had  gained  so  many  lessons 
of  humility  in  the  school  of  Christ,  that  she  was  generally 
willing  to  learn  from  l*er  friends  how  to  benefit  her  fellow-crea- 
tures. In  works  of  benevolence,  both  were  spending  useful, 
happy  lives :  the  one  at  Ravenswood,  and  the  other  at  Hazel 
Glen.  The  trials  of  Edith's  youth  had  greatly  improved  and 
elevated  her  character :  the  suffering  had  passed,  and  left  her 
a  cheerful,  sunny  woman,  rejoicing  in  the  happiness  which  she 
spread  around  her. 


THE  SISTER'S  RECOMPENSE  371 

Letters  came  regularly  from  Adele,  and  breathed  of  happi- 
ness in  her  new  home.  We  will  give  an  extract : 

"  DEAREST  EDITH  :  I  know  that  it  will  rejoice  your  heart 
to  hear  that  I  am  so  happy  in  my  new  home.  My  reception 
was  most  cordial.  Mrs.  Percy  is  a  second  mother,  and  Lionel 
is  all  that  I  could  desire,  and  yet  not  a  day  passes  without  the 
picture  of  the  dear  home  circle  at  Hazel  Glen  rising  up  before 
my  mind.  Mine  is  a  favored  lot.  All  my  youthful  days 
surrounded  by  the  best,  and  holiest  of  influence.  Now,  in  my 
married  life,  I  am  dwelling  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  best  and 
happiest  of  English  homes.  Clara  and  May  are  both  affec- 
tionate sisters,  and  I  endeavor  to  aid  them  in  theii  avocations 
of  usefulness  and  benevolence. 

"  When  I  hear  the  church-bells  ringing  around  us  on  Sunday 
morning,  I  think  of  the  sweet  chimes  which  are  calling  the 
cottagers  of  Hazel  Glen  to  the  little  church  up  Mount  Pisguh. 
Lionel  has  promised  me  that  I  shall  visit  my  own  home  in  a 
year  or  two.  How  delightful  it  will  be  once  more  to  tread 
that  familiar  path  to  our  rural  church.  We  live  in  one  of  the 
suburbs  of  London,  and  my  husband  goes  in  daily  to  his  busi- 
ness, returning  at  five  o'clock  to  dinner. 

"  How  strange  it  seems  to  look  at  that  word,  husband  !  For 
•who  would  have  believed  that  the  young  man  who  rescued  the 
little  girl  at  Windermere  would  have  become  the  beloved 
partner  of  her  life.  But  Providence  works  in  a  mysterious 
way,  and  reality  is  often  more  strange  than  fiction. 

"  When  you  write  tell  me  about  everything.  How  father 
looks,  and  what  he  says  and  does.  About  dear  Lilly,  and 
Emily,  and  little  Frank.  How  are  Ralph  and  Madge? 
Gerald  and  Blanche  ?  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  of  the  change  in 
Josephine.  I  doubt  not,  dearest  sister,  that  you  have  had 
much  to  do  with  that  wonderous  transformation. 

"I  must  not  forget  old  nurse  and  Uncle  Peter.  Dear, 
faithful  servants,  may  God  bless  their  old  days!  And  now, 
dear  sister,  I  have  reserved  my  best  news  for  the  last.  On 
Easter  Sunday,  I  purpose,  by  God's  assistance,  to  make  a 


372  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

public  dedication  of  myself,  with  all  that  I  have,  and  all  that 
I  am,  to  the  love  and  service  of  my  God  and  Saviour.  Then  I 
shall  be  united  to  my  husband  in  the  best  of  bonds,  for  Lionel 
is  a  real  Christian.  Pray  for  me,  dear  Edith,  that  I  may  be  a 
consistent  follower  of  the  meek  and  lowly  Saviour.  Is  not 
ours  a  favored  family  ?  All  are  now  partakers  of  the  hopes 
of  the  Gospel.  Part  in  heaven,  and  part  on  earth  we  may 
hope  to  be  united  forever,  when  the  toils  and  trials  of  life  are 
ended.  Lionel  sends  his  love  to  the  dear  home  circle,  and, 
across  the  deep  ocean,  I  waft  a  loving  kiss  to  all.  Write  fully, 
and  often,  to  your  own  ADELE  PERCY." 

"  How  can  I  ever  doubt  the  faithfulness  of  my  Heavenly 
Father?"  said  Edith,  as  she  gratefully  perused  Adele's  letter. 
"God  has  been  true  to  his  promises.  All  are  gathered  now  into 
the  Saviour's  fold.  Let  me 

'  Praise  him  for  all  that  is  past, 
And  trust  him  for  all  that's  to  come.'  " 

Edith  was  now  busily  engaged  in  erecting  a  parsonage  for 
her  little  church,  for  Mr.  Berkely  was  about  to  bring  home  a 
companion  for  his  earthly  pilgrimage,  and  she  was  anxious  to 
provide  a  comfortable  home  for  the  young  pair.  When  it  was 
completed,  Edith  removed  the  furniture  from  Aunt  Priscilla's 
house;  and,  adding  some  useful  articles  from  her  brother's 
study,  and  also  some  few,  of  a  neater  kind,  to  the  little  parlor, 
all  was  in  perfect  order,  and  waited  the  arrival  of  the  youthful 
occupants.  Edith  superintended  the  first  meal  herself;  and, 
sitting  in  the  pleasant  parlor,  watched  for  the  young  pastor 
and  his  wife. 

All  the  Clifford  family  were  present,  and  so  cheerful  and 
home-like  did  all  appear,  that  the  young  bride  was  saved  much 
of  that  feeling  of  loneliness  which  oppresses  one  in  a  new  and 
strange  home.  "Let  me  take  your  bonnet,  Mrs.  Berkely," 
said  Edith.  "I  am  hostess  to-night:  or,  if  you  prefer  it,  I  will 
show  you  to  your  room."  Saying  which,  she  kindly  led  the 
young  lady  to  her  apartment,  and  added,  when  alone,  "  I  am 
mother  now.  I  have  just  parted  with  two  of  my  dear  children, 
and  am  ready  to  adopt  another." 


THE  SISTER'S  RECOMPENSE.  373 

Raising  her  eyes,  swimming  in  tears  of  gratitude,  the  young 
wife  answered,  "  You  are  too  kind,  dear  Miss  Clifford,  but  I 
thankfully  receive  it  all,  for  I  have  just  left  a  dear  mother.  I 
am  young  and  inexperienced,  and  shall  need  your  instruction 
in  my  new  duties." 

A  comfortable  meal,  a  cheerful  hour  of  social  intercourse, 
and  the  first  worship  around  the  domestic  altar,  closed  the 
pleasant  evening,  and  Mrs.  Berkely  felt  as  if  she  had,  indeed, 
found  a  happy,  Christian  home,  and  a  kind,  sympathizing 
friend.  Madge  frequently  visited  Hazel  Glen.  Her  cheerful, 
sunny  face,  her  glowing  accounts  of  Ralph's  tenderness,  towards 
his  little  wife,  all  spoke  with  peace  within.  "  Indeed  Edith, 
my  husband  watches  me  too  carefully.  He  will  not  let  the 
wind  visit  me  too  roughly.  And  then  there  is  such  perfect 
sympathy  between  us.  He  aids  me  in  my  literary  pursuits, 
encourages,  guides,  directs.  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  do 
without  him." 

"  How  comes  on  the  book,  Madge  ?"  asked  Edith. 

"  It  is  nearly  done,  sister,  and  you  shall  have  the  first  copy ; 
but  I  am  not  very  sanguine,  for  there  is  much  difficulty  in  the 
way  of  an  authoress." 

Two  years  of  useful,  happy  life,  passed  for  Edith.  The 
parish  of  St.  Paul's  the  Less  rapidly  improved.  A  great 
change  had  passed  over  the  whole  neighborhood.  Cheering 
letters  arrived  constantly  from  Adele.  Madge  was  a  devoted 
happy  wife,  but  Ralph  had  suffered  heavy  losses ;  and  what 
Madge  had  first  attempted,  for  the  purpose  of  doing  good  in 
the  world,  by  the  exercise  of  her  talents,  was  now  'cheerfully 
pursued,  in  her  noble  efforts  to  aid  her  husband  in  his  embar- 
rassments. After  a  long  delay,  and  many  disappointments,  her 
first  book  was  published.  Both  watched  anxiously  for  notices 
from  the  press. 

One  morning,  seated  at  the  breakfast-table,  Madge,  with  a 
smiling  face,  held  up  the  newspaper,  saying,  "Look  here, 
dear !"  and  Ralph  read,  with  a  beaming  countenance,  a  most 
flattering  notice  of  his  wife's  book.  Rising  and  throwing  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  she  said  affectionately,  with  glistening 


374  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

eyes,  "  Dear  Ralph,  I  can  help  you  now ;  what  a  joy  it  Avill  be 
to  labor  for  you  ?" 

"Ah,  Madge!  you  see  I  was  not  mistaken:  many  thought 
you  cold,  and  selfish,  and  unfeeling,  but  I  knew  that  thore 
was  a  precious  gem  hidden  under  the  veil  of  reserve,  and  I 
have  found  it.  I  had  hoped,  dearest,  that  I  could  have 
spared  a  path  of  flowers  for  you  to  walk  in,  but  God  has  willed 
it  otherwise;  and  we  ought  to  be  thankful  that  he  has  endowed 
us  with  talents  which  may  help  us  in  the  days  of  our  adver- 
sity." 

"Will  it  not  be  pleasant,  dear  husband,  to  work  together? 
By-the-by,  Ralph,  I  think  that  you  were  very  cunning  to  keep 
your  secret  from  me  so  long,  when  you  were  writing  your  own 
book ;  but  then  it  was  a  delightful  surprise.  Has  it  not  met 
with  some  success  ?" 

"It  has,  dear,"  answered  her  husband,  "and  I  am  hope- 
ful; but  we  must  be  very  economical.  I  have  suffered  the 
loss  of  thousands,  by  indorsing  for  a  friend ;  consequently,  I 
am  heavily  embarrassed.  I  shall  never  rest  until  all  my 
debts  are  paid." 

"  Let  us  move  into  a  smaller  house,  Ralph,"  said  Madge. 
"Now  I  think  of  it,  there  is  Woodbine  Cottage, — I  think 
that  it  is  vacant  now.  Our  rent  would  be  very  low  tlioro. 
We  can  sell  all  our  expensive  furniture,  and  then  we  shall 
have  so  much  leisure,  and  shall  be  so  quiet ;  besides  we  can 
bring  up  our  little  George  so  much  better  in  the  country 
than  in  a  city.  We  shall  have  the  long  winter  evenings, 
when  we  can  write,  or  review  what  we  have  done.  The 
more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  delightful  it  appears.  Away 
from  the  city,  near  Ravenswood,  nearer  Edith,  and  so  much 
more  alone." 

"  Dear  hopeful  little  wife !"  said  Ralph,  lovingly ;  and 
going  to  the  library,  he  opened  a  volume  of  Wordsworth, 
and  read,  feelingly  : 

"  I  saw  her,  upon  nearer  view, 
A  spirit,  yet  a  woman  too  ! 


THE  SISTER'S  RECOMPENSE.  375 

Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 

A.nd  steps  of  virgin  liberty  ; 

A  countenance,  in  which  did  meet 

Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet; 

A  creature,  not  too  bright  or  good 

For  human  nature's  daily  food — 

For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 

Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and  smiles. 

"And  now  I  see,  with  eye  serene, 
The  very  pulse  of  the  machine : 
A  being,  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 
A  traveller  between  life  and  death ; 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill : 
A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command ; 
And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright, 
With  something  of  an  angel  light." 

And  folding  Madge  fondly  in  his  arms,  he  said,  "And  this  is 
what  God  has  given  me !  Your  suggestions  are  excellent,  and 
we  will  follow  them,  dearest." 

Accordingly,  as  soon  as  convenient,  we  behold  them, 
settled  at  Woodbine  Cottage,  a  home  so  hallowed  by  the 
remembrance  of  the  beloved  ones  who  once  dwelt  beneath 
its  humble  roof.  In  the  enjoyment  of  rural  life  and  plea- 
sant congenial  occupations,  in  the  exercise  of  pious  submis- 
sion to  God's  providence,  in  the  love  for  each  other,  Kalph 
and  Madge  lived  a  happier  life  than  they  had  ever  yet  en- 
joyed. Their  wants  were  few,  their  prospects  encouraging. 
It  amused  them  not  a  little  when  they  read  the  curious  sur- 
mises concerning  Madge's  book.  It  was  exciting  much  atten- 
tion. Who  could  have  written  it?  It  was  generally  un- 
derstood that  the  name  of  the  author  was  merely  a  "  nomme 
de  plume."  Was  she  an  American?  Was  she  English? 
Why  could  she  not  give  her  real  name?  The  profits  now 
began  to  come,  and  the  publishers  asked  for  another  from  the 
same  source. 

Edith  rejoiced  in  Madge's  success,  and  foarcd  no  evil  con- 
sequences, now  that  both  husband  and  wife  were  engaged 


376  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

in  the  same  pursuits,  and  that  their  maintenance  depended 
upon  their  success.  Accustomed  to  gather  her  family  always 
on  Christmas,  she  made  preparations  for  their  arrival,  ex- 
pecting the  ladies  to  spend  a  week  with  her.  Edith  was 
an  accomplished  cake-maker,  and  for  several  days  before, 
was  very  busy  with  her  preparations  for  her  guests,  arrang- 
ing her  gifts  for  the  Christmas-tree,  and  dressing  the  house 
with  evergreens. 

The  day  before  Christmas  was  intensely  cold.  There  had 
been  a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  and  the  company  arrived  in 
sleighs.  It  was  a  great  treat  to  the  little  ones  to  meet  at 
Aunt  Edith's,  and  Frank  had  been  running  out  to  the  piazza 
all  day,  to  watch  for  their  arrival.  Clad  in  his  fur  cap  and 
warm  overcoat  and  tippet,  frequently  he  ran  down  the  glen, 
to  see  if  they  were  coming;  but  the  keen  wind  and  biting 
frost  drove  him  back  to  the  glowing  fires,  to  warm  his  hands 
and  to  start  on  another  excursion.  At  last,  with  a  joyful 
s?hout,  he  exclaimed,  "There  is  Uncle  Gerald!"  and  away 
he  flew,  to  seize  little  Mary  when  she  was  lifted  from  the 
sleigh. 

"Don't  pull  me,  Cousin  Frank,"  said  the  little  girl,  as  the 
excited  boy  hurried  her  into  the  house. 

"  Dear,  darling  aunty,  happy  Christmas !"  said  the  little 
creature,  as  Edith  clasped  her  in  her  arms,  and  welcomed 
heartily  her  sister  and  Gerald. 

"  You  must  be  very  cold,  Blanche,"  said  Edith,  as  she  took 
off  her  wrappings,  and  rubbed  her  purple  hands.  Blanche  was 
very  pale,  and  had  a  cough  which  troubled  her  sister.  As  soon 
as  possible,  she  had  some  light  cakes  and  mulled  wine  placed 
before  them,  and  soon  made  everything  wear  a  cheerful  aspect. 

"  But  Blanche,  where  did  that  cough  come  from  T'  said 
Edith. 

"  I  took  cold,  dear,  last  fall,  and  I  have  never  been  able  to 
get  clear  of  it." 

Edith  saw  that  her  flesh  was  wasted,  and  she  appeared  weak 
and  dejected.  Her  fears  were  greatly  awakened  when  she  saw 
these  symptoms. 


THE  SISTER'S  RECOMPENSE.  377 

Little  Mary  was  a  lovely  child  of  four  years  old,  full  of 
sprightliness  and  artless  prattle.  Frank  was  merry  and 
sportive,  as  his  father  had  been  at  his  age.  Josephine'  made 
one  of  the  party,  and  added  not  a  little  to  its  cheerfulness.  ' 

Soon  Ralph,  Madge,  and  little  George  were  among  the 
guests;  and  old  Mr.  Clifford  was  perfectly  happy  when  thus 
surrounded  by  his  family. 

"  All  we  want  now  is  Adele,"  said  he ;  "  but  we  hope  to  see 
her  the  next  year." 

It  was  a  happy  company  that  assembled  around  the  family 
board  that  evening. 

"  Shall  not  little  Mary  have  some  of  Aunt  Edith's  sponge- 
cake?" said  Frank. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  replied  her  mother ;  "  we  never  see  such  sponge- 
cake anywhere  else." 

"  Nor  such  delightful  coffee,  or  good  buckwheat  cakes,"  said 
Gerald. 

"  Nor  such  a  dear  sister,"  said  Madge. 

"By-the-by,  Madge,"  said  Edith,  "I  think  that  the  good 
sister  of  your  book  was  rather  overdrawn." 

"  Indeed,"  replied  Madge,  looking  archly  at  Ralph,  "  I  had 
a  model ;  had  I  not,  husband  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  real  living  model ;  such  as  we  seldom,  but  may 
sometimes  see,"  answered  Ralph. 

"  Do  not  blush  so,  Edith ;  you  must  let  your  sister  some- 
times draw  your  likeness,"  said  Madge,  "  for  I  tried  to  give  the 
glory  where  it  all  belonged, — to  abounding  grace." 

"  How  has  the  book  been  received,  Ralph  ?"  asked  Edith. 

"  In  a  very  flattering  manner,  indeed  I  think  my  little  wife 
will  be  quite  an  authoress." 

"  In  my  next  I  shall  draw  the  picture  of  a  Christian  hus- 
band, and  I  have  a  model  for  that;  I  need  no  invention  while 
Ralph  Cameron  lives." 

After  tea,  the  children  were  indulged  with  a  merry  hour  of 
childish  sports,  and  Aunt  Edith  led  the  party.  "Blind  Man's 
Buff,"  "  Hunt  the  Slipper,"  and  "  Pussy  Wants  a  Corner,"  filled 
the  room  with  laughter.  Little  George,  in  his  father's  arms, 


378  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

crowed  and  la  ighed,  and  clapped  his  chubby  hands  in  an 
ecstacy  of  delight,  and  grandfather  cheered  on  the  game.  A 
basket  of  apples,  and  another  of  nuts,  closed  the  evening ;  and 
after  the  ceremony  of  hanging  up  the  stockings  for  the  three 
children,  they  were  dismissed  to  their  slumbers,  promising  to 
be  up  early  in  the  morning  to  usher  in  the  Christmas  festival. 

By  early  dawn,  Frank's  bare  feet  were  heard  patting  about 
the  house,  saluting  every  chamber  door  with  his  "  Happy 
Christmas!"  and  by  lamp-light  the  party  had  assembled 
around  the  Christmas  tree  in  the  parlor.  Brilliantly  lighted, 
with  the  angel  on  its  topmost  bough,  it  was  an  object  of  great 
joy  to  the  happy  children ;  and  when  the  presents  came  to  be 
distributed,  deep,  pure  wells  of  affection  were  stirred  by  these 
love-gifts  in  the  hearts  of  that  happy  Christmas  household. 
Little  Mary  was  charmed  by  her  pretty  wax  doll,  Frank 
scampered  about  on  his  new-hobby-horse,  and  little  George 
loaded  his  wagon  with  sugar-plums,  and  amused  himself  by 
drawing  it  around  the  room.  Some  packages  from  Adele 
were  on  the  table,  for  she  had  contrived  to  have  them  at  home 
by  Christmas;  and  old  Mr.  Clifford  was  as  happy  as  a  child  in 
counting  over  the  gifts  from  his  beloved  children. 

In  the  useful,  happy  lives  of  her  sisters,  Madge  and  Adele, 
in  the  peaceful  death-beds  of  Frank  arid  Eveleen,  in  the  pros- 
perity of  her  little  church,  in  the  promising  childhood  of  her 
sister's  children,  in  the  warm  love  which  encircled  her  on  her 
domestic  hearth,  in  the  reverence  which  she  everywhere 
inspired,  and  in  the  cheerful  piety  which  dwelt  in  her  own 
peaceful  bosom,  we  behold  some  of  the  recompense  of  her 
early  years  of  trials  and  sadness ;  and  as  we  look  upon  the 
noble  woman,  with  that  cheerful  aspect  which  attracts  all 
hearts  within  the  circle  of  her  influence,  we  honor  the  holy 
spirit  of  self-sacrifice  which  resigned  the  bright  hopes  of  youth 
for  the  happiness  of  living  in  and  for  a  wider  circle  than  the 
sweet  womanly  province  of  a  holy,  happy  wife;  for  Edith 
Clifford  had  rejected  many  offers,  and  deliberately  chosen  her 
lot  of  single  blessedness. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

WINTER  BLASTS  AROUND  OAK  HALL. 


PALE  face,  a  hectic  flush,  and  warning  cough, 
haunted  Edith  whenever  she  thought  of  her 
sister  Blanche.  Notes  came  to  her  more  fre- 
quently than  usual,  but  they  all  told  of  ill  health 
and  sadness,  and  called  for  sympathy  and  advice  : 
and  the  faithful  friend  was  with  her  declining 
sister  as  much  as  other  cares  would  allow.  Gerald 
was  alarmed.  The  best  advice  was  called  in, 
and  all  that  human  skill  could  devise  was  done  to  arrest  the 
progress  of  disease  ;  but  the  sentence  had  gone  forth,  and, 
step  by  step,  she  faded  from  the  sight  of  those  who 
loved  her. 

Mr.  Berkely,  perceiving  her  condition,  was  the  faithful 
pastor  and  friend  who  gradually  prepared  her  mind  for  the 
last  great  change.  By  frequent  visits,  earnest  prayers,  and 
suitable  books,  he  ministered  to  the  young  wife,  and  directed" 
her  thoughts  to  another  and  a  better  world.  Gerald  was 
untiring.  All  that  human  love  could  do  to  smooth  the  pas- 
sage to  the  tomb  was  freely  bestowed.  Josephine,  under  the 
influence  of  her  new  principles,  was  the  tender,  affectionate 
nurse.  Little  Mary  sported  around  her  dying  mother,  and 
caused  her  many  a  secret  pang  as  she  thought  of  leaving 
her  in  the  wide  world;  but  that  grief  was  greatly  mitigated 
when  she  thought  of  her  sister  Edith,  who  had  been  a  faithful 

379 


380  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

mother  to  so  many,  and  who,  she  knew,  would  cherish  her 
child. 

Time  wore  on.  The  severity  of  the  weather  prevented 
Blanche  from  breathing  the  air  out  of  doors,  and  she  was  now 
confined  to  two  rooms.  It  was  manifest  to  all  that  the  snow- 
drop and  crocus  would  bloom  upon  her  grave,  and  that  early 
spring  birds  would  sing  her  requiem. 

Nearer  and  nearer  drew  the  messenger  from  heaven.  At 
last  she  whispered  to  Gerald,  "  Send  for  Edith,  I  cannot  do 
without  her  now.  It  will  not  be  long,  dear,  that  I  shall  need 
her." 

The  messenger  was  despatched,  and  she  set  out  alone,  to  go 
to  her  dying  sister.  It  was  a  dreary  winter  night  when  she 
came  in  sight  of  Raven swood.  Not  a  human  being  was  any- 
where to  be  seen.  The  keen  blasts  whistled  around  the  old 
elms,  swaying  their  branches  in  the  frosty  air,  which  seemed  to 
Edith's  imagination  full  of  the  sighs  of  mournful  spirits.  Past 
the  old  elm,  in  sight  of  the  dear  home  of  her  childhood,  soon 
the  grand  oaks  of  her  sister's  residence  appeared  in  sight,  and 
through  the  leafless  branches  she  perceived  the  light  burning 
in  the  sick-room. 

She  was  received  with  a  sad  welcome  by  Gerald.  "  You  will 
not  leave  her  again,  Edith,"  said  he,  "  until  she  has  passed  the 
dark  valley,  and  is  safe  at  home."  Perceiving  her  trunk,  it 
was  a  sufficient  answer  to  his  request. 

Passing  sadly  up  the  staircase,  a  few  moments  brought  her 
to  the  side  of  Blanche,  who,  propped  up  by  pillows,  drew  her 
down  to  kiss  her,  saying,  "  I  knew,  dear,  that  you  would  come. 
You  will  not  leave  me  again,  Edith,  will  you  ?" 

"  No,  dearest ;  I  have  made  arrangements  at  home  to  pro- 
vide for  my  absence." 

Nothing  could  be  more  touching  than  the  appearance  of  the 
beautiful  creature,  who  seemed  panting  beneath  the  wasting  of 
consumption.  Her  eyes,  always  remarkable  for  their  melting 
tenderness,  now,  under  the  languor  of  disease,  penetrated  the 
beholder  with  their  sweetness,  rendered  still  more  lovely  by  the 
hectic  flush  which  bloomed  upon  her  countenance.  The  soft, 


WINTER   BLASTS   AROUND   OAK   HALL.  381 

brown  hair,  gathered  up  under  a  simple  lace  cap,  which  was 
untied  to  aid  her  breathing,  shaded  her  marble  forehead,  and 
escaped  in  waving  curls  behind  the  ear,  and  down  the  slender 
neck. 

Taking  Edith's  hand,  Blanche  whispered,  faintly,  "Sister, 
it  was  kind  to  co*me;  but  when  were  you  aught  else?  It  is  a 
gloomy  night,  dearest.  How  the  wind  whistles  around  th« 
Hall." 

"  Yes,  Blanche,  it  is  cold  and  dreary,  out  of  doors,  but  I 
trust  that  the  light  and  warmth  of  Christian  hope  is  here." 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say,  dear  sister,  and  while  I  have 
strength,  I  must  tell  you  all,"  said  Blanche. 

"  Do  not  tire  yourself  too  much.  Would  it  not  be  better  in 
the  daytime  ?"  replied  her  sister. 

"No,  Edith,  it  would  relieve  me,  and  I  should  sleep  better. 
I  was  at  first  very  unwilling  to  think  of  death,  for  I  have  a 
great  deal  to  leave ;  an  affectionate  husband,  a  sweet  child,  a 
pleasant  home,  and  so  many  dear  friends;  and  then  I  have 
been  so  unfaithful  to  my  Christian  vows,  so  worldly,  so  vain, 
so  selfish.  I  felt  afraid  to  meet  my  ofiended  God ;  but,  dear 
sister,  I  have  truly  repented  of  all.  I  have  cast  all  my  cares 
and  sins  on  Jesus,  and  now  I  have  peace,  perfect  peace  in  him. 
Gerald  will  grieve,  at  first,  but  he  will  not  miss  me  much,  for 
I  was  not  the  one  to  make  him  happy ;  and  yet  he  has  always 
been  so  kind,  so  considerate,  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of; 
but  I  have  heard  him  sigh,  when  I  have  returned  from  those 
gay  parties,  and  I  have  seen  him  so  disappointed,  when  I 
showed  no  interest  in  his  beautiful  pictures." 

"  Do  not  reproach  yourself  now,  Blanche ;  that  is  long 
past,  and  you  have  been  a  loving  wife  since  then,"  said 
Edith. 

"Yes,  loving,  Edith,  but  not  strong,"  she  replied,  smiling 
sadly;  "and  that  is  what  Gerald  needs, — a  wise,  judicious, 
faithful  friend,  in  his  wife ;  that  is  what  you  are,  Edith,  aud 
he  would  have  been  a  happier  man  with  his  early  love ;  but 
I  never  planned  to  wean  him  Irom  you,  and  many  an  hour 
since  have  I  experienced  my  unfitness  to  be  his  wife." 


382  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"Do  not  talk  so,  dear  Blanche, — these  are  vain  regrets, 
unprofitable  to  us  both;  let  your  thoughts  dwell  upon  the 
future,  upon  the  blessed  world  to  which  you  are  so  rapidly 
hastening:  there  we  shall  know  the  reasons  for  all  the  sorrows 
and  disappointments  of  this  mortal  state,  and  will,  doubtless, 
bless  God  for  all." 

"  Kiss  me,  sister,  ere  I  sleep ;  and  pray,  dearest,  that  I  may 
be  sustained  throughout  all  this  last  trial  of  my  pilgrimage." 

Edith  folded  the  wasted  form  in  a  warm  embrace,  pressed  a 
kiss  upon  the  sweet  lips,  and,  bowing  down,  poured  out  a 
heart-warm  prayer  for  her  dying  sister.  She  lay  down  by  her 
side,  and  Blanche  slept  sweetly,  pillowed  on  her  sister's  bosom. 
Week  by  week,  day  by  day,  hour  by  hour,  she  faded  away,  so 
silently,  so  peacefully,  that  the  last  hour  came  when  it  was  not 
expected. 

It  was  early  in  March,  when  the  little  robins  began  to  peck 
against  her  window,  and  to  warble  their  sweet  carols  around 
the  old  oak  trees,  that  Edith  brought  in  a  few  of  the  earliest 
spring-flowers,  and  placed  them  on  a  little  table  near  her  bed. 
She  smiled,  as  she  looked  upon  them,  and  said,  "  They  are  the 
last  that  I  shall  see  of  earth.  I  shall  soon  be  where  flowers  of 
Paradise  bloom  perpetually." 

"  It  is  a  blessed  hope,  Blanche ;  what  would  become  of  us, 
without  this  sweet  assurance  ?"  said  Edith. 

"Will  you  call  Gerald,  sister?  I  want  to  see  him,"  added 
Blanche ;  and  summoned  to  her  bed-side,  he  was  soon  in  her 
room. 

"  Come  near  me,  dear  husband,"  said  Blanche,  while  the 
death-dews  stood  upon  her  forehead.  "  I  want  to  thank  you, 
Gerald,  for  all  your  tenderness,  your  kind  forbearance  towards 
your  weak  young  wife.  Never,  by  word  or  deed,  have  you 
failed  me.  You  should  have  had  a  stronger  mind,  a  firmer 
character,  than  mine,  but  no  want  of  love  on  your  part  has 
ever  made  me  feel  it.  And  now  I  am  going,  Gerald,  to  my 
mother,  to  my  brother,  to  Eveleen,  to  my  precious  Saviour; 
follow  me  there,  dearest  husband.  I  want  my  sister  to  educate 
my  little  Mary.  She  has  been  a  faithful  mother  to  us  all,  and 


WINTER   BLASTS   AROUND  OAK  HALL.  383 

she  will  love  and  cherish  ray  child.  I  know  that  Josephine 
would  be  kind  to  her,  but  Edith  will  be  wiser." 

"Your  requests,  dearest,  shall  be  faithfully  observed.  I 
agree  entirely  with  you  concerning  our  child.  Edith  is  the 
proper  person  to  train  her,"  answered  Gerald. 

Ere  the  bloom  of  the  snowdrop  and  crocus  were  over, 
Blanche  Clifford  passed  from  earth,  and  "earth  to  earth,  ashes 
to  ashes,  dust  to  dust,"  was  solemnly  pronounced  over  the  still 
lovely  remains  of  Gerald's  youthful  wife,  as  they  laid  her  away 
to  await  the  rising  morn.  "  And  did  Gerald  mourn  ?"  He 
did,  faithfully,  truly,  for  the  one  sleeping  in  the  silent  grave, 
but  he  did  not  miss  the  companionship,  as  he  would  have 
missed  the  society  of  a  stronger,  nobler  wife. 

It  grieved  him  to  part  with  his  little  Mary,  but  his  promise 
to  his  dying  Blanche  was  faithfully  kept,  and  Edith  returned 
to  Hazel  Glen  with  another  dear  child,  to  train  for  usefulness 
and  heaven.  Josephine  was  now  a  kind  and  faithful  friend  to 
her  brother,  and  in  her  devotion  to  the  cause  of  God  was  a 
great  blessing  to  the  neighborhood  of  Ravenswood.  The 
trials  of  life  had  recalled  Gerald  to  his  God  and  Saviour;  and 
in  the  active  duties  of  a  Christian,  and  in  renewed  attention 
to  his  profession,  he  sought  and  found  the  comfort  which  he 
needed. 

His  little  Mary  drew  him  frequently  to  Hazel  Glen,  where 
he  saw  Edith,  in  all  the  dignity  of  womanhood,  presiding  over 
her  family,  sustaining  her  father,  training  her  little  charge, 
cheering  and  blessing  her  sisters,  and  everywhere  exercising 
her  benevolent  and  pious  spirit  Having  nothing  now  to 
detain  him  in  America,  Gerald  prepared  to  leave  his  home,  to 
stay  a  couple  of  years  on  the  continent,  in  order  to  study  his 
art  and  pursue  his  profession;  but  before  leaving  he  secured 
faithful  likenesses  of  the  family,  intending  to  make  some 
important  use  of  them  while  abroad.  Committing  his  child 
affectionately  to  Edith's  care,  he  set  sail  for  Europe,  promising 
to  see  Adele  before  he  visited  the  continent. 

After  a  prosperous  voyage,  he  arrived  in  England,  and 
hastened  to  the  residence  of  the  Percys.  His  meeting  with 


384  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Adele  was  sad  one,  for  the  sisters  had  tenderly  loved  each 
other,  and  the  sight  of  Gerald's  sad  pale  face  and  mourning 
garb  spoke  of  the  dear  departed. 

The  kind  sympathy  of  the  family  in  that  peaceful  Christian 
home  was  a  healing  balm  to  his  sorrowing  spirit,  and  the  sight 
of  Adele's  domestic  happiness  with  her  husband  and  little 
Edith-,  filled  his  heart  with  grateful  sympathy,  as  he  thought 
of  the  good  tidings  which  he  could  send  to  Hazel  Glen.  After 
visiting  some  of  the  charming  rural  scenery  of  England,  he 
turned  his  face  to  the  continent,  and  rambled  from  place  to 
place,  sketching  the  romantic  scenery  of  Switzerland,  and 
travelling  on  to  the  splended  Pyrenees,  where,  years  before,  he 
had  spent  so  many  happy  hours  with  Edith,  in  the  days  of 
their  early  betrothal.  She  was  no  longer  young,  nor  was  Ger- 
ald, and  yet  the  image  of  the  past  that  most  frequently 
haunted  his  memory  was  Edith,  and  not  Blanche,  the  fascina- 
tion of  whose  beauty  had  passed  away;  but  the  conversations 
of  those  early  days,  the  deep  devotion  of  Edith's  spirit, 
returned  to  him  now,  in  his  middle  life;  and,  when  he  needed 
a  friend,  a  sympathizer,  he  deeply  felt  what  he  had  lost. 

In  all  his  studies,  surrounded  by  his  pictures,  his  mind  was 
constantly  reverting  to  Edith,  and  longing  for  her  approval. 
He  was  busily  engaged  in  planning  three  great  pictures,  which 
he  expected  to  be  the  work  of  years,  and  on  which  he  was  be- 
stowing all  the  powers  of  his  genius.  He  heard  constantly 
from  Hazel  Glen,  and  the  news  of  his  little  daughter's  health, 
beauty,  and  sprightliness,  made  him  often  long  for  a  sight  of 
his  sweet  Mary.  Gerald's  character  was  ripening,  under  the 
influence  of  his  trials,  and  in  all  his  journeying  he  sought  the 
society  of  the  excellent.  The  power  of  early  Christian  influ- 
ence returned.  The  world  had  lost  its  charms,  and  things 
unseen  and  eternal  exercised  a  controlling  influence  over  his 
daily  life.  The  nearer  his  heart  drew  to  God,  the  more  did 
thoughts  of  Edith  and  her  goodness  fill  his  memory. 

Two  years  he  remained  abroad.  Without  notifying  his 
friends,  suddenly  he  resolved  to  visit  America,  and  set  sail  as 
soon  as  possible,  having  closed  his  studio  ere  he  left  Florence, 


WINTER   BLASTS  AROUND  OAK   HALL.  386 

which  had  been  his  last  stopping-place.  A  short  voyage 
brought  him  to  New  York,  and  with  the  least  possible  delay, 
after  stopping  at  Ravenswood  to  see  his  sister,  he  hastened  on 
to  Hazel  Glen.  It  was  an  evening  late  in  autumn  when  he 
came  in  sight  of  the  house.  He  halted  awhile  before  the 
window  of  the  family-room  to  view  the  picture  within.  The 
room  was  cheerfully  lighted.  The  fire  burned  briskly  in  the 
burnished  grate.  Old  Mr.  Clifford  was  seated  in  a  large  chair 
on  one  side  of  a  large  table,  and  seemed  to  be  talking  pleasantly 
to  Frank,  who,  though  a  large  boy,  sat  on  his  grandfather's 
knee.  Little  Mary,  his  darling  child,  was  seated  on  Aunt 
Edith's  lap,  who  seemed  to  be  affectionately  caressing  the  little 
girl.  Many  silver  hairs  had  been  added  to  Mr.  Clifford's  head, 
but  time  had  dealt  very  lightly  with  Edith.  Her  figure  had 
grown  fuller,  but  had  lost  none  of  its  dignity ;  her  eyes  were 
just  as  lovely  as  in  early  youth,  and  her  mouth  no  longer  wore 
the  old  expression  of  pride,  but  a  sweet,  happy  smile  dwelt 
upon  her  face  as  she  talked  to  her  little  niece.  Blind  Lilly 
sut  among  the  group,  with  a  calm,  serene  aspect,  and  Emily 
\vas  seated  at  the  piano,  playing.  Gerald's  heart  was  full, 
as  he  looked  at  the  family  group,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  in 
their  midst. 

"  There  is  dear  papa,  Mary,"  said  Edith,  as  she  gave  the 
child  into  his  arms. 

Clasping  her  in  a  warm  embrace,  the  father  pressed  loving 
kisses  on  her  soft  cheek,  saying,  "  How  much  she  has  grown, 
Edith !  How  I  have  longed  to  see  my  darling  child  I" 

"She  has  not  forgotten  her  father,  Gerald,"  answered 
Edith,  "for  in  her  daily  prayers  you  have  always  been  re- 
membered, and  in  all  her  childish  lessons  she  has  always 
been  taught  to  refer  to  you;  she  can  read  now,  and  is 
occupied  daily  in  the  school-room  with  our  dear  Miss  Ar- 
nold." 

"  She  is  a  privileged  child,  Edith,  with  such  an  aunt  and 
governess,"  said  Gerald,  with  a  warm  glow  of  gratitude  upon 
his  face. 

"  How  are  Ralph  and  Madge  ?"  inquired  Gerald. 
25 


386  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

"  They  are  well,  and  living  happily  at  Woodbine  Cottaga 
Ralph  is  a  successful  author,  and  Madge  is  helping  him  nobly , 
you  could  not  find  a  happier  circle  than  the  one  dwelling  in 
that  sweet,  humble  home.  But  how  long  since  you  have  seen 
Adele?"  inquired  Edith. 

"  I  spent  a  week  with  the  Percys  on  my  return  home,  when 
waiting  for  the  steamer,  and  I  was  quite  charmed  with  all  that 
I  saw  there  of  a  happy  English  household.  Adele  is  a  happy 
wife  and  mother ;  she  expects  to  ''visit  home  in  the  spring," 
answered  Gerald. 

Seated  around  the  breakfast-table,  next  morning,  Gerald 
said,  smilingly,  to  little  Mary,  "  I  have  something  to  show  you, 
daughter,  that  I  think  will  please  you." 

Clapping  her  little  hands,  she  said,  "  O,  show  me  now,  dear 
papa,  I  cannot  wait." 

"  Guess  what  I  have  brought  you,  Mary,"  replied  her  father : 
"  it  is  in  that  box  on  the  side-table." 

"What  can  it  be,  I  wonder?"  said  the  excited  child;  and 
there  was  no  more  breakfast  eaten  by  the  little  girl  on  that 
morning. 

As  soon  as  the  meal  was  ended,  Gerald  opened  the  box,  and 
to  Mary's  infinite  delight,  there  lay  a  beautiful  London  doll, 
which  she  had  so  long  desired,  which  could  open  and  shut  its 
eyes,  and  several  suits  of  handsome  clothes.  She  flew  to  her 
father,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck,  she  said, 
"  Thank  you,  dear  papa,  you  are  so  good  ;"  and  whispering  in 
his  ear,  she  added,  "  You  have  not  forgotten  Cousin  Frank, 
have  you,  dear  papa  ?" 

"  No,  indeed ;"  and  opening  a  small  box,  he  drew  out  a  very 
fine  watch,  which  he  presented  to  the  delighted  boy. 

"  How  did  you  know,  uncle,  that  I  wanted  a  watch,  above 
all  things  ?" 

"  Why,  my  boy,  I  remembered  what  I  wished  for  at  your 
age.  I  have  some  very  choice  books  also  for  you,"  answered 
his  uncle. 

"  Now,  I  have  something  for  your  aunt,"  said  Gerald ;  and 
opening  a  small  case,  the  bright  face  of  little  Edith  Percy 


WINTER  BLASTS  AROUND  OAK  HALL.         387 

smiled  upon  her.  "  This  is  from  Adele,  and  is  a  perfect  like- 
ness," continued  he.  Opening  another,  a  set  of  fine  mosaics 
appeared,  which  he  had  purchased  in  Rome,  and  a  lovely 
picture  of  Blanche,  set  in  jet.  "Will  you  accept  these, 
Edith?"  said  Gerald;  "they  express  but  little  of  the  gratitude 
which  I  feel  for  the  kind,  motherly  care  you  have  extended  to- 
wards my  darling  Mary.,' 

Gerald  lengthened  his  stay  at  Hazel  Glen ;  it  was  yet  a 
charmed  circle  to  the  weary  exile.  Deeply  interested  in 
Edith's  pursuits,  he  looked  upon  the  work  which  she  had 
accomplished  with  peculiar  emotions.  All  around  him  were 
objects  which  spoke  of  the  noble  woman  who  once  might  have 
been  his.  If  he  raised  his  eyes  to  Mount  Pisgah,  there  stood 
the  humble  church  built  by  her  benevolence ;  if  he  looked  a 
short  distance  up  the  glen,  there,  embowered  in  shady  trees, 
smiled  the  pretty  rural  parsonage  which  she  had  provided ;  if 
he  walked  out  in  the  morning  among  the  cottagers,  her  praises 
were  in  every  mouth  ;  if,  in  the  evenings,  he  sometimes  visited 
the  homes  of  the  rich,  Edith  Clifford's  holy  life  and  pure  devo- 
tion dwelt  upon  every  tongue ;  and  all  ranks  and  classes  rose 
up  to  do  her  honor. 

But  it  was  time  that  he  should  return  to  Oak  Hall,  he  was 
needed  there,  and  though  his  heart  lingered  at  Hazel  Glen,  he 
made  ready  for  his  departure.  Late  on  one  winter  evening  he 
started  for  his  home.  He  was  alone.  Bitter  memories  stirred 
within  his  bosom.  The  cold  winter  inoon  revealed  the  gloom- 
iness of  the  landscape ;  the  leaflees  trees  were  rocked  to  and 
fro  by  keen,  biting  blasts,  and  no  sounds  were  heard  around 
him  but  the  hollow  winds  moaning  drearily  through  the 
forest.  From  some  mysterious  power  of  association,  one 
glance  at  that  winter  moon  brought  back  the  days  of  early 
buoyant  youth.  He  stood  again  with  Edith  on  the  piazza,  at 
Ravenswood,  when  he  had  appointed  the  early  morning  ride, 
ere  he  went  to  college.  He  recalled  the  blessed  evening  when, 
under  the  glowing  sunset,  he  first  revealed  his  own,  and  listened 
to  the  artless  story  of  her  love.  He  saw  again  the  rosy  blush 
and  the  happy  smile  that  lit  up  her  lofty  countenance. 


388  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Farther  on,  he  was  again  at  the  communion  table,  where, 
together,  they  knelt  at  the  table  of  the  Lord.  Then  followed 
the  remembrance  of  her  purity  and  love,  to  mock  him  with 
visions  of  departed  happiness.  A  long  blank  ensued.  Then 
came  the  memory  of  Blanche,  on  that  day  when  the  picture 
on  the  balcony  first  charmed  his  wandering  fancy ;  then  the 
years  .of  blushing,  lovely  girlhood,  and  the  fascinating  creature 
who  stole  his  weak  heart  from  his  noble  Edith.  The  scene 
on  the  Hudson  was  acted  over  again.  A  pang  of  remorse 
shot  through  his  bosom,  as  he  remembered  his  cruel  neglect, 
in  that  hour  of  mortal  agony.  Then  came,  like  stinging 
scorpions,  the  recollection  of  that  morning,  when  Edith  placed 
the  ring  of  betrothal  on  the  finger  of  Blanche,  and  almost 
sank  beneath  the  trial.  Then  followed  his  short  married  life, 
the  disappointments  of  that  union,  and  the  early  grave  which 
opened  to  receive  the  young  wife.  Then  rose  the  picture  again 
of  Edith's  sisterly  love,  her  glowing  piety,  her  returning 
cheerfulness,  the  footsteps  of  her  heavenly  benevolence,  and 
her  blessed  household  at  Hazel  Glen  ;  and  as  he  thought  of 
the  desolate  hearth  to  which  he  was  hastening,  the  love  of  his 
early  years  returned,  and  he  longed  once  more  for  the  pure 
devoted  heart,  which  had  loved  him  so  fondly  in  the  days  of 
"  auld  lang  syne." 

He  stood  a  moment  upon  the  piazza  ere  he  entered  his  home, 
and  as  he  glanced  once  more  towards  dear  old  Kavenswood, 
now  the  home  of  strangers,  the  remembrance  of  that  old  elm 
tree  returned  with  all  its  soul-subduing  memories,  and  the  low 
wailings  of  the  wintry  blasts  sighed  a  sad  requiem  over  his 
buried  hopes;  not  so  sorrowful,  however,  as  the  deep  sigh 
which  heaved  his  bosom  as  he  entered  his  dreary  home. 

Josephine  welcomed  him  warmly,  but  she  saw  that  bitter 
memories  were  busy  in  his  heart,  and  she  endeavored,  as 
much  as  possible,  to  cheer  her  brother.  He  sympathized  with 
his  sister  in  all  her  plans  of  benevolence,  exerted  his  influence, 
contributed  his  money,  and  "  let  his  light  shine  among  men," 
glorifying  his  Father  in  heaven.  But  his  thoughts  travelled 
more  frequently  towards  Edith  than  to  the  silent  grave  of 


WINTER  BLASTS  AROUND  OAK  HALL.         389 

Blanche,  and  he  began  to  wonder  how  he  ever  could  have  been 
fascinated  by  the  mere  charms  of  her  girlish  beauty,  when  con- 
trasted with  the  noble  loveliness  of  Edith. 

The  veil  had  fallen.  The  mists  of  passion  had  vanished, 
and  in  the  clear  light  of  a  purified  nature,  the  image  of  his 
early  love  returned,  to  set  up  her  reign  in  his  heart  with  a 
purer,  deeper,  holier  affection.  His  visits  were  frequent  at 
Hazel  Glen,  and  occasionally  Edith  and  little  Mary  visited 
Miss  Fortescue  at  Oak  Hall.  They  were  warm  friends  now, 
for  Josephine  had  learned  to  venerate  the  character  of  her 
model  of  Christian  excellence,  and  depended  upon  Edith's 
advice  in  all  her  plans  for  the  good  of  her  neighborhood; 
and  it  made  Edith  very  happy  to  hear  the  praises  of  Gerald 
and  his  sister  in  the  cottages  of  the  humble  and  poor. 

Gerald  always  seemed  happier  when  Edith  was  a  guest  at 
his  table,  and  he  ever  paid  to  her  that  deferential  respect  which 
he  considered  her  due.  Late  one  afternoon  they  had  been 
walking  together  in  some  of  their  accustomed  places  of  resort, 
for  Edith  was  fond  of  out-door  exercise,  even  in  winter.  They 
had  been  conversing  upon  the  charming  scenery  of  Europe, 
and  Gerald  had  been  recalling  many  lovely  pictures  among 
the  Pyrenees.  Unconsciously  to  Edith,  they  strayed  on  until 
she  found  herself  again  with  Gerald  near  the  old  elm  tree. 

"Let  us  be  seated  awhile,"  said  he.  And  again  they  sat 
under  the  same  tree,  which  had  witnessed  so  much  of  joy  and 
grief  in  their  early  days. 

"  What  a  changing  world  is  this !"  said  Gerald.  "  Twenty 
years  ago,  dear  Edith,  we  sat  here  in  the  days  of  our  youth. 
Do  you  remember  the  sunset  hour  when  we  were  both  so  happy  ?" 

"  Do  not  pain  me,  Gerald,  by  those  recollections.  Their 
memory  is  vanishing.  Their  bitterness  has  all  passed,  and  it 
would  be  better  for  us  both  to  forget  them  entirely." 

"I  have  a  reason,  my  dear  friend,  for  recalling  their 
memory  ;  they  were  the  brightest,  dearest,  holiest  hours  of  my 
life.  O  that  they  could  be  renewed  again !  I  have  seen  much 
of  the  world ;  many  of  its  loveliest  and  purest  women  ;  but 
my  heart  turns  back  to  Edith  Clifford,  as  my  beau  ideal  of 


390  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

woman  as  she  should  be ;  and  could  I  but  hope  to  regain  what 
I  have  forfeited  so  madly,  I  should  be  the  happiest  of  men." 

Edith's  lips  quivered  as  she  listened  to  Gerald,  and  her  dark 
eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  replied,  "Do  not  awaken  those 
sad  memories,  Gerald :  it  is  a  buried  affection ;  do  not  rudely 
disturb  its  ashes." 

"  And  why  should  it  be  forever  buried,  Edith  ?  I  was  once 
misled  and  captivated  by  mere  beauty ;  but  now  my  heart 
returns  to  its  allegiance,  and  I  love  you  with  a  deeper,  purer, 
more  enduring  love,  than  I  have  ever  felt  before  for  woman." 

"  Do  not  distress  me  by  these  professions,  Gerald,"  replied 
Edith.  "  My  choice  is  made ;  my  lot  is  appointed.  Once  I 
loved  you  with  all  a  woman's  holy  devotion ;  but  I  was  mis- 
taken. It  was  not  Gerald  Fortescue,  as  he  really  was,  but  an 
imaginary  being,  whom  I  loved  so  fondly.  I  was  disappointed. 
Love  died,  and  friendship  for  my  sister's  husband  took  its 
place.  I  rejoiced  in  your  prosperity.  I  believe  that  we  shall 
dwell  together  in  a  higher,  holier  world ;  but  on  earth  I  can 
love  no  more.  "We  are  both  declining  in  life  now,  Gerald. 
See,  here  are  a  few  silver  hairs  mingling  with  my  locks,  and 
warning  me  of  the  lengthening  on  the  dial-plate  of  time.  Let 
us  be  friends,  Christian  friends,  Gerald,  aiding  each  other  in 
all  holy  deeds,  and  preparing  for  that  world  '  where  there  is 
neither  marrying,  or  giving  in  marriage.' " 

Gerald  Fortescue  bowed  his  head  and  wept,  in  sorrow  more 
bitter  than  when  he  looked  upon  the  beautiful  remains  of  his 
youthful  wife.  It  was  a  sad  trial  to  Edith  to  see  a  man  weep 
so  bitterly. 

"  I  cannot  stay  here,  Edith,  if  you  cast  me  off,"  replied 
Gerald.  "  My  heart  has  been  gradually  returning  to  its  early 
love,  and  I  had  hoped  that  the  declining  portion  of  our  life 
would  have  been  spent  together.  But  it  is  so.  I  deserve  this 
for  my  weakness.  Even  to  be  your  friend,  Edith,  is  a  high 
honor,  but  to  be  your  husband,  would  have  been  too  much  of 
earthly  happiness.  I  will  return  to  Europe,  and  devoting 
myself  to  my  profession,  and  the  duties  of  a  useful  Christian, 
I  will  seek  for  the  peace  which  I  have  lost." 


WINTER  BLASTS  AROUND  OAK  HALL.         391 

"  And  now,  Gerald,"  said  Edith,  as  she  laid  her  hand  upon 
the  thin  locks  of  his  bowed  head,  "  may  God  ever  bless,  defend, 
and  keep  you.  May  he  pour  into  your  heart  the  balm  of 
heavenly  consolation,  and  bring  you  home  to  his  everlasting 
kingdom." 

"How  different,  Edith,  is  this  hour,"  said  Gerald,  "from 
that  which,  twenty  years  ago,  we  passed  under  this  old  tree, 
when  the  glory  of  that  very  sunset  was  in  harmony  with  the 
dreams  of  happiness  in  which  we  then  indulged.  Listen  now, 
Edith,  to  the  howling  of  the  wintry  blasts.  "Watch  the  cold 
dark  sky,  in  which  there  shines  no  cheering  stars,  and  you 
have  a  faint  picture  of  the  desolation  which  reigns  within  my 
bosom." 

"Do  not  say  so,  Gerald,"  replied  Edith.  "There  should 
be  no  such  feelings  in  a  Christian's  heart.  God  wills  that 
you  shall  serve  him  in  another  sphere  from  that  which  you 
would  choose ;  and  there  is  always  blessedness  in  his  service. 
My  duty  is  plain  before  me.  An  aged,  dependent  father, 
two  dear  orphan  children,  a  blind,  youthful  sister,  and  a  whole 
neighborhood,  claim  my  services  ;  and,  Gerald,  it  has  made  me 
happy  to  bless  them.  My  saddest  days  were  my  youthful 
ones.  Riper  years  have  brought  me  the  real  sunshine  of  my 
life.  When  seeing  others  happy,  and  looking  forward  '  to  the 
rest  which  remaiueth  for  the  people  of  God,'  I  enjoy  constant 
blessedness." 

"  Noble  woman !"  said  Gerald,  "  I  will  try  to  imitate  your 
piety.  But,  Edith,  remember  what  I  have  always  said,  that 
you  were  ever  above  me ;  and  whenever  you  approach  me,  I 
feel  like  one  looking  up  from  the  foot  of  a  lofty  hill,  where  I 
am  lowly  and  depressed,  to  the  summit,  where  you  stand 
smiling  and  serene,  beckoning  me  onward." 

"  And  will  you  not  come,  Gerald,"  replied  Edith,  "  and  seek 
for  higher  and  holier  attainments?" 

"  I  will  try,  my  friend,  and  you  must  be  my  helper." 

Slowly  they  returned  to  the  house.  Edith  mourned  over 
Gerald's  disappointment ;  but,  convinced  that  she  was  in  the 
path  of  duty,  she  was  at  peace.  In  a  few  more  weeks, 


392  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Gerald  came  to  Hazel  Glen  to  say  farewell  to  the  beloved 
inmates.  It  was  a  sad  parting ;  for  there  was  no  hope  in  the 
future  for  this  life,  as  Gerald  then  thought.  But  Edith  knew 
better ;  for  as  she  believed  him  now  to  be  a  real  Christian,  she 
knew  that  blessedness  always  follows  the  faithful  perfor- 
mance of  duty. 

The  winter  wore  away.  Edith  was  busy  as  ever  in  her 
daily  life  of  usefulness  and  peace.  Lilly  aided  her  in  all 
gentle  offices  of  love.  Emily  was  a  neat  little  assistant  in 
housekeeping.  Frank  bid  fair  to  be  a  bright,  intelligent 
boy,  and  little  Mary  was  a  sweet,  affectionate  child.  Sur- 
rounded by  those  beloved  ones,  Edith's  was  a  blessed  household, 
where  angels  kept  watch  and  Jesus  daily  dwelt.  Early  in  the 
spring,  Adele,  her  husband,  and  little  Edith,  paid  a  visit  to  the 
home  of  her  childhood.  Adele's  natural  joyousness,  subdued 
and  softened  by  Christian  principle,  made  her  an  exceedingly 
lovely  and  interesting  companion.  Lionel  was  very  proud  of 
his  lovely  wife  and  child.  And  when  Ralph,  Madge,  and  her 
little  George  were  added  to  the  family  group,  Edith  was  com- 
pletely happy.  Madge  had  published  another  book,  which  estab- 
lished her  fame,  although  still  writing  under  a  fictitious  name. 

"  Really,  Madge,"  said  Adele,  "  where  do  you  find  your 
model  husbands?" 

"I  did  not  have  to  go  far  from  home,"  replied  Madge,  as 
she  looked  affectionately  upon  her  husband.  "  Ralph  is  my 
model ;  only  I  fear  that  I  have  not  done  him  justice." 

"  "We  have  been  highly  favored,"  replied  Adele ;  "  for  I  do 
not  think  two  such  husbands  could  be  found  as  ours.  Really, 
Edith,  when  you  see  our  domestic  felicity,  I  wonder  that  you 
are  not  tempted  to  follow  our  example." 

"  I  have  my  calling,  Adele.  It  rejoices  my  heart  to  see  you 
happy,  and  I  accept  cheerfully  the  lot  which  my  Heavenly 
Father  has  appointed.  I  have  a  sweet  home  circle,  which  I  love, 
and  to  whose  comfort  and  happiness  I  am  necessary.  I  have 
never  yet  regretted  my  youthful  vow  to  my  dying  mother.  It 
has  brought  blessings  to  many,  and  I  desire  to  thank  God  for 
grace  to  fulfil  it." 


WINTER   BLASTS   AROUND   OAK  HALL.  393 

The  seeds  of  piety  which  her  young  hand  had  sown, 
watered  by  bitter  tears,  had  produced  the  ripe  fruits  of 
autumn.  "First  the  blade,  then  the  ear,  then  the  full  corn 
in  the  ear."  The  ripened  harvest  of  holiness  which  appeared 
BO  richly  in  Edith's  character  needed  not  only  the  early 
sowing  of  the  seed,  but  the  breaking  of  the  fallow  ground  by 
the  rough  ploughshare;  not  only  the  sunshine  and  the  dew, 
but  also  the  rain  from  heaven,  and  the  dark  winter  nights, 
when  its  heavy  snows  spread  a  white  sheet  over  the  young 
grain. 

All  of  this  beneficent  process  had  been  carefully  con- 
ducted and  watched  in  the  heart  of  Edith  Clifford  by  the  wise 
Husbandman,  aud  now  appeared,  hanging  in  heavy  clusters 
on  the  branches  of  her  daily  life,  the  rich  returns  of  autumn 
fruits,  as  from  year  to  year  the  mortal  tended  slowly  to  dissolu- 
tion, while  the  spiritual  immortal  germ  daily  expanded,  until, 
made  perfect,  it  would  bloom  hereafter  in  the  Paradise 
above. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

EVENING. 


HE  summer  storm  has  its  errand  of  mercy,  in 
^  the  pure  atmosphere  which  it  opens  around 
us;  as,  also,  the  rough  ploughshare,  breaking 
and  crumbling  the  soil,  in  the  harvests  which 
follow ;  the  darkness  of  night  its  end,  in  the  rosy 
streaks  which  harbinger  the  rising  day;  and  the 
stormy  waves,  which  often  agitate  the  bosom  of 
the  peaceful  river,  are  followed  by  the  calm  flow  of 
a  gentle  stream,  as  it  seeks  the  bosom  of  the  mighty  ocean. 
Edith's  bark  had  sailed  but  for  a  little  while  upon  the  smooth 
stream  of  youth,  where  flowers  bloom  upon  its  smiling  banks, 
and  the  bright  sunshine  illumines  every  object ;  for,  over  noisy 
rapids,  she  had  plunged,  as  it  were,  suddenly,  into  the 
deeper  stream  of  life,  where  she  had  buffeted  many  storms 
and  encountered  many  rocks  and  shoals;  now,  at  forty- 
five,  she  had  reached  more  quiet  waters;  her  bark  sailed 
smoothly  and  happily  on ;  the  sunlight  of  heaven,  and  not 
of  earth,  shone  around  her  path,  revealing  in  the  distant 
clouds  the  palace  in  the  skies  whither  her  feet  were  surely 
tending.  Some  blossoms  of  earth  smiled  around  her;  for, 
surrounded  by  her  sisters  and  their  sweet  children,  her 
warm  affections  sent  out  their  tendrils  and  clasped  them  in 
one  loving  embrace ;  and  richly  had  she  been  repaid. 

Nearly   forty-five!      A    most   dreaded,    fearful    period,   to 
394 


EVENING.  395 

that  woman,  who,  failing  to  gather  around  her  those  natu- 
ral ties  which  the  heart  seeks,  makes  no  circle  of  love  in 
which  she  moves.  Not  so  with  Edith  Clifford.  She  had 
nearly  reached  the  evening  of  life:  but  who  ever  thought 
of  attaching  the  odium  of  "old  maid"  to  her  honored  name? 
Blessed  with  excellent  health,  she  looked  ten  years  younger 
than  she  really  was ;  her  noble  figure  was  one  of  matchless 
symmetry,  her  countenance  wore  an  expression  of  cheerful 
serenity,  her  fine  eyes  beamed  with  intellect  and  love,  her 
rich  dark  hair,  but  slightly  streaked  with  silver  threads,  lay 
folded  around  her  noble 'head. 

Clad,  generally,  in  her  favorite  garb  of  black,  or  gray 
silk,  she  could  never  enter  a  room  without  the  question 
being  passed  around,  "  Who  is  that  noble-looking  woman  ?" 
If  among  the  better  classes,  the  answer  would  frequently 
be,  "It  is  Edith  Clifford,  the  guardian  spirit  of  Hazel 
Glen ;"  or,  if  among  the  poor,  the  tearful  grateful  answer, 
was,  often,  "It  is  Miss  Edith,  the  friend  of  the  poor  and 
helpless." 

"She  is  an 'old  maid,'  is  she  not?"  was  sometimes  the 
inquiry. 

"  She  has  never  married ;  but  if  you  call  her  '  old  maid  '  in 
derision,  you  are  speaking  to  the  wrong  person,"  was  ever  the 
response  of  her  friends. 

Amidst  the  universal  respect  and  love  of  the  inhabitants 
of  her  little  province,  she  exercised  an  influence  that  gave 
her  entire  control  of  the  families  who  loved  her. 

Her  father  is  now  seventy-five;  his  hair  is  silvered  and 
his  step  infirm,  but  he  leans  upon  his  daughter  with  a  lov- 
ing independence,  and  he  returns  sweet,  reverential  care  and 
affection.  Daily  growing  in  grace,  which  he  traces  all  back 
to  her  holy  example,  his  feet  are  tending  to  the  tomb,  but 
upon  his  hoary  head  is  that  crown  of  glory  which  the 
righteous  wear.  Often,  in  the  twilight  hours,  he  talks 
about  his  Mary,  and  the  loved  ones  who  have  gone  before 
him,  and  looks  forward,  with  unwavering  hope,  to  his  home  in 
heaven. 


396  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Old  nurse  is  dead ;  long  since  gathered  t  sme  to  the  rest 
of  those  who  sleep  in  Jesus.  Miss  Arnold  is  advanced  in 
years,  but  still  teaches  the  children  of  the  household;  for 
Edith  must  have  her  beloved  governess  near  her.  Hers  is 
a  green  old  age,  for  her  home  is  a  happy  one,  and  she  has 
never  know  anything  of  the  bitterness  of  servitude  in  that 
Christian  family. 

The  church  upon  Mount  Pisgah  is  still  the  resting-place 
for  the  weary  pilgrims  of  Hazel  Glen.  It  has  prepared 
many  saints  for  glory ;  and  amid  its  shaded  churchyard 
sleep  many,  who  shall  awake  to  bless  the  gentle  ministry  which 
planted  the  little  sanctuary  on  the  hill-top  of  their  earthly 
home. 

The  good  pastor  is  still  among  them.  He  is  identified  as  the 
spiritual  father  of  many;  and  loving  his  humble  country 
parish,  he  never  thinks  of  change.  He  has  received  scores  into 
the  flocks  of  the  Redeemer,  and  he  hopes  yet  to  welcome  their 
children  to  the  table  of  the  Lord ;  and,  as  he  listens,  Sunday 
after  Sunday,  to  the  church-bells,  which  calls  him  to  his  holy 
labors,  he  trust  that  the  same  bell  will  toll  for  his  departure, 
when  his  work  on  earth  is  done. 

Forty-five!  Edith  looked  forward  to  her  birthday  with 
calm,  happy  feelings.  She  felt  a  longing  desire  to  see  all  her 
beloved  ones  together  once  more  beneath  her  own  roof,  and 
had  conceived  the  idea  of  a  family  tryst  on  the  approaching 
day. 

Gerald  had  returned  twice  to  America  since  he  had  parted 
with  Edith  so  sadly.  He  was  now  a  great  artist,  and  had 
lately  announced  his  intention  of  returning  to  Oak  Hall,  to 
wander  no  more. 

Adele,  now  a  happy  Christian  wife,  with  three  children, 
had  experienced  some  of  life's  vicissitudes,  for  she  had  parted 
with  two  of  her  darlings,  and  laid  them  to  sleep  in  the 
family  vault  of  the  Percys,  beneath  the  care  of  the  Re- 
deemer. 

Madge,  still  at  Woodbine  Cottage,  as  a  home  of  choice, 
for  the  summer  season,  was  now  the  mother  of  two  lovely 


EVENING.  397 

children,  George  and  Blanche;  and,  although  two  sweet 
infants  slept  beneath  the  sod,  she  was  a  happy,  useful  Chris- 
tian. Writing  to  all  the  families  in  time,  Edith  summoned 
them  to  celebrate  her  birthday,  in  the  beautiful  month  of 
October. 

Gerald  arrived  first.  Now  in  the  very  prime  of  his  day3, 
he  presented  rather  an  imposing  appearance.  His  form 
was  fine ;  he  had  parted  with  some  of  the  soft  brown  locks 
which^once  lay  upon  his  beautiful  forehead, — now  gleaming, 
in  its  purity,  above  eyes  which  had  lost  much  of  the  dreamy 
look  of  early  youth,  and  was  now  replaced  by  an  expression 
of  earnest  thought,  beaming  out  of  their  dark  blue  depths. 
A  sad,  sweet  smile  played  around  his  mouth,  which  spoke 
of  suffering.  Gerald  had  returned  greatly  improved ;  in 
all  that  was  good  and  elevating,  he  took  a  deep  interest; 
and  Edith,  and  his  sister,  both  hailed  his  presence  as  a 
strong  support  in  their  works  of  benevolence. 

Lionel,  Adele,  and  her  young  family,  followed:  Edith,  a 
young  gir.l  of  thirteen,  Lionel,  a  boy  of  eleven,  and  little 
Madge,  a  child  of  four,  composed  her  household  circle.  She 
was  no  longer  young ;  the  ripened  years  of  middle  life 
adorned  her  character,  and  her  trials  had  .subdued  all  its 
impulsiveness,  and  made  her  a  faithful  mother  to  her  chil- 
dren. 

It  was  now  the  lovely  month  of  October,  when  Hazel 
Glen  appeared  in  all  the  beauty  of  the  season  in  America. 
The  skies  wore  no  more  the  misty  haze  of  a  summer  sun. 
All  along  the  shady  glen  the  trees  were  clad  in  the  gorge- 
ous colors  of  autumn.  The  little  church  assumed  a  look  of 
brighter  loveliness,  as  it  stood  embowered  in  its  green, 
crimson,  and  yellow  hues.  The  squirrel  sported  with  more 
active  gambols  among  the  forest  trees,  and  the  birds  were 
still  singing  their  sweet  carols  among  the  trees  of  the  glen, 
ere  they  took  their  departure  for  warmer  climes.  The 
family  party  were  seated  on  the  piazza,  watching  for  the 
arrival  of  Madge  and  her  family,  whom  they  expected  on 
the  evening  before  Edith's  birthday.  Gerald  was  admiring 


398  EDITH   MINISTRY. 

the  beauties  of  one  of  the  most  splendid  sunsets  which  OUT 
country  affords.  From  the  piazza,  there  was  a  full  view  of 
the  glorious  clouds,  which,  in  masses  of  every  shape  and  tint, 
glowed  over  the  whole  landscape.  While  they  stood  watch- 
ing the  changing  clouds,  the  well-known  carriage  approached, 
and  George  and  Blanche  waved  their  hands  out  of  the  win- 
dows, and  bowed  and  smiled  to  the  party  on  the  piazza. 

"There  is  dear  Aunt  Edith,"  said  little  Blanche;  "is  she 
not  a  sweet,  good  aunty,  mamma  ?" 

"Yes,  my  love;  there  are  few  so  lovely  as  she,"  replied 
her  mother. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  house.  They  soon 
dismounted,  and  were  received  with  open  arms  by  the  dear 
family  group.  Edith  looked  around  her  with  a  bright,  joy- 
ous smile  and  said,  "  How  many  are  left  of  those  we  love !" 

"  Really,  Edith,"  said  Madge,  "  I  cannot  realize  that  this 
is  your  forty-fifth  birthday ;  you  are  so  bright  and  blooming 
yet,  so  joyous  and  sunny,  that  I  cannot  look  upon  you  as  in 
the  decline  of  life." 

"  Well,  Madge,  I  cannot  see  how  I  shall  ever  grow  old.  I 
live  so  much  in  my  dear  family,  that  I  am  constantly  renew- 
ing my  youth  in  these  beloved  children." 

"  By-the-by,  Edith,  have  you  seen  Ralph's  last  book  ?" 
said  Madge;  "it  has  received  many  encomiums,  and  is 
about  to  be  republished  in  England.  My  dear  husband  is 
quite  a  famous  author,  now." 

"And  my  little  wife,  too,"  said  Ralph,  fondly;  "her  books 
are  exercising  a  sweet  and  holy  influence  in  many  a  house- 
hold circle ;  and  around  the  fireside  of  our  country,  the 
morals  of  '  Margaret  Crawford  '  are  everywhere  quoted." 

Edith  smiled  as  she  replied,  "  And  this  famous  authoress 
is  what  was  preparing  in  the  lonely  garret  of  Ravenswood, 
where  our  odd  little  Madge  used  to  hide  herself  with  her 
favorite  Shakespeare." 

Tears  started  in  Madge's  beautiful  eyes  as  she  replied,  "  I 
have  learned  lessons  concerning  the  treatment  of  such  chil- 
dren, from  dear  Ralph.  Often,  when  I  was  called  cross,  I 


EVENING.  399 

was  only  sad ;  and  if  God  had  not  sent  me  such  a  friend,  I 
might  never  have  lived  in  the  sweet  sunshine  of  a  loving 
home.  I  see  the  same  shy  traits  in  Bianche.  We  are 
matching  her  carefully,  and  trying  to  guide  these  eccentricities." 

"Can  you  guess,  Edith,"  said  Ralph,  "whom  I  met  the 
other  day,  in  a  book  store,  in  New  York  ?  None  other  than 
your  old  lover,  Mr.  Percival.  He  is  greatly  changed,  has 
never  married,  and  has  endured  great  hardships  in  his  mis- 
sionary life.  He  looks  quite  old,  and  inquired  after  you  most 
kindly." 

"Aha!  aunty,"  said -Mary  Fortescue,  a  young  girl  of  six- 
teen ;  "  I  have  often  wondered  why  Aunt  Edith  never  married, 
for  I  know  that  she  must  have  had  many  offers ;  how  was  it, 
aunty?" 

A  blush  passed  over  her  mild  countenance  as  she  replied, 
"  God  had  other  work  for  me,  dear.  What  would  have  become 
of  grandpa,  Aunt  Lilly,  and  my  orphan  nephew  and  niece,  if  I 
had  forsaken  them  ?" 

"And  so  many  others,  dear  aunt,"  said  Frank,  "of  those 
who  live  on  your  bounty,  and  rejoice  in  your  goodness.  I  don't 
know  what  I  shall  do  without  my  good  aunt,  when  I  go  to  the 
great  city." 

Frank  was  now  twenty-one,  and  strongly  resembled  his  fa- 
ther. He  was  soon  to  take  his  place  on  the  theatre  of  human 
life,  in  the  metropolis  of  the  Union.  Emily  was  lately  mar- 
ried, and  was  also  to  live  in  New  York,  so  that  Edith's  house- 
hold would  be  narrowed  down  to  a  small  circle. 

On  the  following  day  was  the  period  when  her  birthday  was 
to  be  celebrated,  and  the  great  pictures,  the  work  of  Gerald's 
genius,  first  to  be  seen.  Josephine  Fortescue  and  the  good 
pastor's  family  were  invited  to  join  the  family  circle.  Edith, 
in  a  handsome  dress  of  black  satin,  Madge,  Adele,  and  Emily, 
in  rather  more  fanciful  attire,  to  please  their  liege  lords,  gath- 
ered around  the  hospitable  board,  where  a  bountiful  repast  was 
provided,  and  Aunt  Edith's  pies,  cakes,  jellies,  and  autumn 
fruits,  received  abundant  praise.  After  dinner,  the  party 
assembled  in  the  large  parlor,  tc  examine  the  pictures.  They 


400  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

were  covered  with  curtains,  and  when  Gerald  drew  aside  the 
first,  all  stood  in  affecting  silence,  for  the  elder  members  of  the 
family  understood  its  full  meaning. 

It  was  called  "  The  Sister's  Vow,"  and  represented  a  young 
girl  kneeling  by  the  bed  of  a  dying  mother ;  the  face  of  the 
former  was  turned  upwards,  with  an  expression  of  pure  and 
lofty  purpose ;  the  mother's  hand  was  laid  in  blessing  on  her 
head,  while  a  sweet  smile  rested  upon  the  dying  features.  The 
upper  part  of  the  picture  represented  an  open  roof,  above 
which  floated  fleecy  clouds,  with  smiling  angels  bending  over 
the  departing  saint,  ready  to  receive  her  spirit.  The  faces 
were  not  to  be  mistaken ;  all,  with  choking  voices  and  tearful 
eyes,  recognized  Mrs.  Clifford,  and  her  daughter  Edith  in  the 
bloom  of  early  youth.  But  little  was  said.  A  few  whispered, 
"  How  beautiful !"  But  that  was  all, — their  hearts  were  too 
full  for  speech. 

The  second  curtain  was  removed,  and  another,  entitled 
"The  Sister's  Sacrifice,"  was  disclosed.  Blanche  in  all  her 
glorious  beauty,  stands  by  the  side  of  Gerald,  in  her  wedding 
dress.  The  expression  of  her  face  is  not  altogether  that  of  a 
happy  bride,  for  her  eyes  are  cast  down,  with  an  expression 
more  of  sadness  than  timidity.  Edith,  with  eyes  uplifted, 
stands  by  his  side,  with  one  hand  pressed  to  her  heart,  the 
other  holds  the  ring,  which  she  is  about  to  hand  to  Gerald. 
Her  gaze  is  upward,  fixed  upon  a  glittering  crown,  which  is 
faintly  seen,  through  the  misty  clouds,  in  the  hands  of  angels, 
one  of  which  resembles  the  lovely  face  of  Mrs.  Clifford.  Edith 
appears  to  be  trampling  upon  an  image  of  herself,  which, 
with  face  upturned,  lies  beneath  her  feet,  accompanied  by  other 
misty  faces,  with  an  imploring  expression,  representing  the 
temptations  which  she  has  overcome.  The  expression  of  her 
lofty  countenance  tells  its  own  story.  Not  one  could  speak, 
save  young  Mary  Fortescue ;  and  the  tribute  of  perfect  silence 
was  more  eloquent  than  words.  Mary  whispered  to  her  aunt 
Madge,  "  Is  that  lovely  creature  my  mother  ?  Why  is  Aunt 
Edith  there?  What  is  she  trampling  under  her  feet?  What 
does  the  picture  mean  ?" 


EVENING.  401 

"  Do  not  ask  now,  Mary ;  it  has  a  wrrowful  history,"  replied 
her  aunt. 

Another  curtain  removed,  disclosed  the  third,  called  "  The 
Sister's  Recompense,"  which  represented  a  family  scene  of  a 
bright  cheerful  character.  Edith,  in  the  bloom  of  mature 
womanhood,  in  her  favorite  dress  of  black  satin,  with  a 
brighter,  happier  face  than  she  had  ever  worn  in  the  days  of 
her  youth,  stood,  surrounded  by  her  family ;  her  aged  father, 
holding  her  hand,  looks  upon  her  with  affectionate  reverence ; 
her  blind  sister,  on  the  other  side,  is  leaning  fondly  upon  her ; 
Frank  and  Mary,  two  blooming  youths,  are  seated  at  her  feet, 
and  old  Uncle  Peter  is  represented  as  advancing  with  a  pack- 
age of  letters  from  the  absent  ones.  The  window  is  open,  look- 
ing out  upon  a  sylvan  scene.  On  the  summit  of  Mount  Pisgah 
is  observed  the  little  church,  with  groups  of  persons  wending 
their  way  up  the  hills  and  over  the  distant  fields  to  the  house 
of  God.  In  the  beautiful  clouds  above  are  seen  the  faces  of 
angels,  among  whom  we  trace  a  shadowy  resemblance  to  the 
mother,  Frank,  Eveleen,  and  Blanche.  Edith  had  retired  for 
a  few  moments,  almost  overpowered  by  these  vivid  pictures  of 
the  trials  of  her  life,  and  those  who  remained  could  scarcely 
express  all  their  admiration  of  these  beautiful  productions. 
They  were  to  remain  awhile  at  Hazel  Glen,  and  then  carried 
to  New  York  for  exhibition,  their  beauty  to  be  admired,  but 
their  history  only  known  to  the  family  circle  at  the  Glen. 

The  day  passed  delightfully,  for  the  joyous  spirits  of  the 
younger  portion  soon  dissipated  the  appearance  of  sadness. 
The  weather  was  yet  so  balmy  that  the  young  people  enjoyed 
out-door  sports;  and  up  the  hill-side,  down  the  glen,  and 
through  the  woods,  might  be  heard  the  merry  shout  and  laugh 
for  most  of  the  day.  Towards  evening,  they  returned  to  the 
house,  the  little  girls  crowned  with  wild  autumn  flowers,  and 
the  boys  with  hats  full  of  nuts,  gathered  from  the  trees  of  the 
forest.  In  the  evening,  Edith  received  from  each  dear  rela- 
tive some  valuable  gift,  expressive  of  their  love  ;  and  the  cotta- 
gers, who  had  heard  of  the  celebration,  had  sent  their  contribu- 
tion of  a  handsome  Family  Bible,  and  the  little  children  a 


402  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Prayer  Book,  for  "dear  Miss  Edith,"  which  they  gratefully 
offered  for  her  acceptance.  A  few  more  weeks,  and  Adele 
turned  her  face  homewards  ;  but,  ere  parting,  another  gather- 
ing of  the  family  met  at  the  Glen.  After  evening  prayer, 
they  sang,  to  Lilly's  sweet  music,  the  following  tender,  appro- 
priate melody : 

"  When  shall  we  all  meet  again? 
When  shall  we  all  meet  again  ? 
Oft  shall  glowing  hope  expire, 
Oft  shall  wearied  love  retire, 
Oft  shall  death  and  sorrow  reign, 
Ere  we  all  shall  meet  again. 

"  Though  in  distant  lands  we  sigh, 
Parched  beneath  a  hostile  sky, 
Though  the  deep  between  us  rolls 
Friendship  shall  unite  our  souls; 
Still  in  fancy's  rich  domain, 
Oft  shall  we  all  meet  again. 

"  When  the  dreams  of  life  are  fled, 
When  its  wasted  lamps  are  dead ; 
When  in  cold  oblivion's  shade, 
Beauty,  power,  and  fame  are  laid; 
Where  immortal  spirits  reign, 
There  shall  we  all  meet  again." 

Forty-five !  Edith  is  now  approaching  the  evening  of  life ; 
and  here  we  leave  hor.  She  has  dignified  the  state  of  single 
life ;  let  readers,  who  may  be  contemplating  the  probabilities 
of  the  same  state,  never  allow  themselves,  for  the  mere  weak 
terror  of  the  title  of  "  an  old  maid,"  to  take  upon  them  the 
solemn  duties  of  a  wife,  for  any  other  reason  than  that  of 
pure  and  holy  love;  and  let  none  weakly  despise  the  state 
of  maidenhood,  who  witness  the  self-denying  lives  of  so  many 
useful,  holy  women. 

Perhaps,  it  has  often  been  asked,  why  such  numbers  of 
pure  and  noble  females  have  remained  in  the  lonely  state  of 
single  blessedness,  when  so  many  of  the  vain  and  frivolous 
have  taken  upon  themselves  the  high  and  holy  duties  of 
married  life  ? 


EVENING. 


To  this  it  may  be  replied :  Providence  has  wisely  willed 
it  so.  Often  by  a  succession  of  suffering,  of  which  the  world 
dreams  not;  sometimes,  from  wronged  and  disappointed 
affection;  sometimes,  for  high  and  noble  sacrifices;  but 
always,  under  the  guidance  of  a  wise  and  beneficent  Pro- 
vidence. 

It  were  vain  for  man  to  attempt  to  answer  all  the  reasons 
for  the  wonderful  dealings  of  our  Heavenly  Father;  but 
when  we  see  these  noble  women  presiding  over  orphaned 
households,  and  cheering  the  declining  days  of  an  aged 
parent,  we  have  some  answer  for  the  mystery. 

Go  ask  the  humble  cottager,  who  stood  by  the  death-bed 
of  a  beloved  companion  or  child,  soothing  the  last  hour  and 
wiping  the  death-sweat  from  the  brow  ?  Go  ask  the  faithful 
pastor,  who  sustains  his  labors,  and  comforts  him  in  the  hour 
of  trial  ?  Go  ask  the  aged  pilgrim,  who  provided  those  com- 
fortable garments  for  those  weary  limbs?  Who  taught  the 
little  ones  their  first  whispered  prayer,  and  sang  to  them  of 
Jesus' dying  love  ?  Who  placed  upon  the  hill-top  that  little 
sanctuary  whose  spire  constantly  points  to  heaven?  Who 
rang  the  first  silvery  chime  of  the  church-bell,  which,  Suuday 
after  Sunday,  through  the  shady  glen,  and  over  the  distant 
hills,  calls  the  worshippers  to  the  house  of  God?  In  the 
whispered  blessings  that  comes  to  us  from  the  families  of 
the  poor  and  ignorant  in  Hazel  Glen ;  in  the  prayers  which, 
night  and  morning,  ascend  from  family  altars,  for  their 
benefactress;  in  the  dependent  love  of  the  white-haired 
father,  who  leans  upon  a  daughter's  arm ;  in  the  veneration 
with  which  her  sisters  speak  her  name,  and  in  the  warm 
love  of  her  orphan  nephew  and  youthful  niece,  we  have  some 
of  the  reasons  why  God  appointed  Edith  Clifford  to  such  a 
holy,  heavenly  ministry. 

Her  noonday  sun  has  passed  its  meridian,  and  is  gradually 
sinking  towards  the  west.  The  twilight  shadows  descend, 
at  first  softening,  then  dimming,  the  outline  of  objects,  once 
seen  distinctly  in  the  glare  of  day.  The  darkness  of  age 
slowly  draws  on,  the  midnight  hour  of  death  is  near,  and 


404  EDITH'S  MINISTRY. 

Edith  waits,  in  faith  and  patience,  for  her  rest,  in  another  and 
more  glorious  home. 

When  the  evening  shadows  have  fled  away,  the  midnight 
of  death  rolled  off,  and  the  sleep  of  the  grave  at  an  end, 
then  shall  dawn  the  faint  harbinger  of  the  glorioua  morning 
of  immortality. 

Edith  waits  for  the  rosy  clouds,  tinting  the  distant  portals 
of  the  palace  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  until,  under  the  bright 
effulgence  of  an  eternal  noon,  the  golden  turrets  of  the  ever- 
lasting city  shall  glitter  in  the  full  blaze  of  immortal  glory. 
She  sees  it  with  the  eye  of  faith,  and  waits,  in  joyful  antici- 
pation of  that  hour,  when  the  wheels  of  Providence,  so 
intricate  and  yet  so  full  of  eyes,  shall  all  be  explained; 
when  the  tangled  thread  of  life  shall  be  unwound,  and  the 
skill  of  the  Great  Architect  of  human  destiny  be  admired 
and  adorned. 

Edith  waits  in  joyful  hope,  for  that  hour  when,  the  end  of 
divine  discipline  accomplished,  she  shall  be  presented,  fault- 
less, before  the  throne  of  God. 

She  waits  for  the  reaping-time,  when  she  shall  present 
her  ripe  sheaves  to  the  glorious  Husbandman ;  and  with  the 
beloved  ones  who  have  crossed  the  flood,  and  the  pilgrim 
band  who  are  yet  members  of  the  church  militant,  she  shall 
leave  the  shades  of  evening  far  behind,  and  bask  in  the 
noonday  sun  of  unfading  glory;  and,  waiting  thus  in  faith  and 
patience,  Edith  Clifford  is  truly  and  supremely  blest. 


THE   END. 


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